


what you had and what you lost

by its_tortle



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Needs Love, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Issues, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Billy Hargrove, Good Parent Jim "Chief" Hopper, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lesbian Robin Buckley, M/M, Neil Hargrove Being an Asshole, Parent-Child Relationship, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Stranger Things 3, Protective Max, Protective Steve Harrington, Redemption, Slurs, definite horniness but no smut, no beta we die like women, somewhat slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22970146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_tortle/pseuds/its_tortle
Summary: Donna Richardson, formerly Hargrove, née Marcs, has not seen her son in nearly a decade. She had run from her husband in a panic with no time to turn back for Billy, and by the time she searched for him, he was gone without a trace.It was her greatest regret.ORThe one in which Billy's mom comes to look for him, just as he's begun to heal.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Billy Hargrove's Mother, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 111
Kudos: 392





	1. Hawkins, Indiana (Donna)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a complete and total AU based off of my own ideal world where  
> 1) nobody dies in season 3  
> 2) everybody stays in hawkins  
> 3) hopper and joyce finally get together  
> 4) eleven tells hopper about neil  
> 5) hopper promptly takes billy in  
> 6) billy is a little bit less of an asshole and befriends steve and robin (and nancy and jonathan)  
> 7) steve and billy obviously end up together  
> this story is set somewhere between points six and seven, closer to the latter.
> 
> chapters will alternate between billy’s mom’s and billy’s pov, but in third person.
> 
> the title is taken from fleetwood mac’s dreams ‘cause i’ve been obsessed with rumours lately.

_**Make sure you read the author's notes above, otherwise you may** **be thoroughly** **confused.** _

It’s noon when she passes the sign. 

“ _HAWKINS, INDIANA_ ”, it reads, “ _You’ll never want to leave!”_. It seems ironic, all things considered, but she’s not here to judge. 

The window of her small Austin Allegro had been rolled down a notch for the past few hours to let in some fresh air, and the smell of cow manure wafts into the car as family farms line the side of the road. They look pretty with their blooming cherry trees and green pastures, but the smell is unpleasant and potent, in stark contrast to the sea salt and jasmine that she had become so accustomed to in California. She rolls up her window.

As she approaches the town center she slows, looks around as the Allegro rolls down the main road and past the shops that are busy with Saturday morning shoppers. The town center is cute in a small town Midwestern sort of way. 

_This is where he lives_ , she thinks, _this is his town_. She wonders if he likes it here.

Donna Richardson, formerly Hargrove, née Marcs, has not seen her son in nearly a decade. She had run from her husband in a panic, with no time to turn back for Billy, and by the time she searched for him he was gone without a trace.

It was her greatest regret.

When she had seen the words “William (Billy) Hargrove, 18” in the _Chronicle_ , listed among those involved in the so-called “Hawkins Incident”, her heart had skipped a beat. For the first time since she had left for Portland all those summers ago and returned weeks later to find an empty house, she knew where he was. She knew he was _alive_. 

Donna doesn’t read the paper much and had found this one lying around in a café months after it’s publication, but she hoped and prayed that Billy was still there. He _had_ to be.

With her new husband Phil’s support, she had borrowed a portion of the household savings, taken leave from work and jumped in her car, promising to herself that she would do all she could to get to Billy.

She’s here to find him, to speak to him, and mostly to apologize. She knows she has done him wrong. She may be impulsive and cowardly, but she’s not wholly insensitive and is well aware of all the pain she has caused. 

Now, nine years later, she hopes more than anything that he will let her make amends. She knows she can’t make it up to him, and that his trust is not something she can get back, but she wants him to know that it was her fault, not his, and that no time or distance could dull the love she feels for him. Donna is well aware he doesn’t even owe her a meeting, but she wants one so desperately she feels it might kill her.

When she had last seen him, Billy had been a small boy with golden curls, a warm heart, and a big attitude. Now, at nearly nineteen years old, she knows he must be a man. She hopes that the warm heart and big attitude have prevailed, and selfishly wishes that he still has her curls, even if he lost her so long ago. More than anything, she hopes he’s not like Neil. If he is, it would be entirely, deeply, _tragically_ her fault.

She pulls up the car next to a bench by the road, occupied by a few young teenagers, and rolls down her window. They all look up at her sceptically.

“Hello,” she smiles at them, “Could you guys point me to the police station?” 

The one with curly hair and a ratty baseball cap speaks up. “It’s uh- three blocks that way and then turn right. Fourth plot on the left.”

Donna begins to thank him, but it is interrupted by the girl with the flaming red hair. “Do you live around here? I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

The girl has an intimidating aura, emanating a fierce confidence and protectiveness, of what, Donna doesn't know. She shakes her head “‘fraid not, it’s my first time here.”

“Huh.” The girl keeps looking at her quizzically, then shrugs.

“Thanks for the help, kids!” Donna rolls her window back up.

She sees the teens watch her in her rearview mirror as she drives off, wondering where that girl could have seen her before. Middle aged women with big blonde curls and freckles aren’t that uncommon, she concludes, though she knows there’s likely little to none in small town Indiana.

She shakes her head. There are far more important things to worry about now.

\------ 

The police station is dark in contrast to the sunshine outside, and Donna has to give her eyes a few moments to adjust. The blinds are most of the way open, but the windows are small and the april sun outside is not angled correctly at noon to let a lot of light into the building. Judging by the droopy plants, the station doesn’t see a lot of light no matter what time of day. 

There are a few officers strewn around the small office and an older woman in a pink blouse at the front desk. Donna approaches her.

“How can I help you?”, the woman asks without looking up. She’s writing something in a large black notebook that looks suspiciously like a romantic story. Donna can just read the words “strong”, “mustang”, and “sweltering”, and smiles at the hilarity of the situation. The pen in the notebook stills as the woman looks up, clearly confused by her silence.

Donna straightens, clears her throat. “I was wondering whether you could give me any contact information for William Hargrove. He lives here, right?” She tries to keep her voice steady, confident, but knows that her desperation is audible. If this woman couldn’t give her any information, maybe didn’t even know who she was referring to, Donna has no idea if she could take it.

“Who’s asking?”, the woman asks instead, her voice dry, her brows furrowed. 

She thinks about lying on the off chance that this lady might know of her past, or lack thereof, with Billy, but knows that in a legal sense the truth is her best shot. “His mother.”

The woman’s eyes just about pop out of her head. “His mother?”, she asks incredulously.

“Yes.” 

After a beat, the woman nods, takes a deep breath. “I’ll let you talk to the Chief about that one.”

Donna feels herself spiraling as the woman takes the receiver off of the phone on the desk. Why does she need to see the Chief about Billy? Is he in trouble with the cops? Is he in jail? Is he _dead_? Trying to tear herself from her panic, Donna listens in.

“Hop, you’re gonna wanna see who just came in.” A short pause. “I don’t care if you’re on a break, you’re gonna wanna see this lady.” Another pause. “I’ll bring her over.” The woman hangs up the receiver. 

She gets up from behind the desk and walks around it. Donna knows she is tall, but the height difference between her and this woman is almost comical. “Follow me”, the short lady tells her and begins walking down a hall to her right. Donna does as she is told.

After a quick knock the door is opened and they step inside. 

Like the rest of the station, the room is dim. It smells of stale cigarettes, coffee, and old paper, and has musty-looking furniture. A man with a grey beard sits behind the desk in the middle of the room, leaning back in his chair and eyeing Donna critically. There is a sign on his desk that reads _Jim Hopper, Hawkins Chief of Police_. She swallows.

“Thanks, Flo.” His gruff voice as he dismisses the woman from the front desk, _Flo_. A moment later, he motions to the two chairs in front of him, and bids Donna to take a seat. She complies.

“Who’re you?” Hopper asks. Donna startles, taken aback by his directness.

She composes herself. “Donna Richardson. I asked the lady at the front desk for William Hargrove’s contact information. Is he in trouble or something?” Her nervousness is showing, and she knows it.

The Chief eyes her and she can practically see the gears turning in his head. “He’s not in trouble. Why do you want to contact Billy?” His voice is slow, steady, measured. Donna feels suddenly intimidated by the larger man.

“I-”, she tries. “He’s my son.” Her attempt at a smile falls short.

“Your son?” He questions, but his voice stays flat.

Donna nods.

Hopper lets out a long breath, closes his eyes. For the first time since she came in, he shifts in his chair and leans on the table, briefly rubbing his face with his hands. After a few long, excruciating moments in which Donna is sure he will tell her that his son is dead, he looks up at her. “And you’re coming to look for him after nine years. Why?”

The surprise that he knows this information must show on her face, but he doesn’t answer the unasked question as he waits for her to answer his.

“I’ve been looking since ‘77, but I never knew where to find him. I read his name in the paper. An article about last July.” Her explanation sounds like a sad excuse to her own ears.

He sighs and shakes his head, mulls over her words. “What do you want from Billy now then?”

“I just want to see him. Apologize.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath and is about to continue when Hopper interupts her. 

“And then go back off to California?” His short laugh is angry, incredulous. “You can’t just drop in here unannounced and demand to see Billy. Hell, do you know what that kid has gone through? How much of his issues are due to your leaving in the first place? Of course you don’t, you haven’t seen him since he was _ten_.”

“I know that!” Donna surprises herself by shouting. There are tears in her eyes. “I know that,” she repeats softly, “and I’m not here to have a happy reunion and ride off into the sunset with my son, but I think he deserves an apology.”

Hopper is silent, waiting. She takes a deep breath and tries to stop the tears that threaten to roll down her cheeks. “I want him to know that I went back to the house just a few weeks after I left to get him and there was no trace of him or his father, and that I actively searched for nearly five years until I had to stop for the sake of my sanity. Even if he never wants to see me again, I want to give him closure.” 

The large man across the desk sighs deeply. “Okay. I just-” He pauses, looking for the right words. “I just don’t want to see you reopening wounds and then leaving again. Kid’s gone through so much as it is, and he’s finally in a good place.”

Donna smiles. Her eyes are still glassy. “I’m glad to hear that.” She considers his words. “Is he still living with his father?”

Hopper huffs and shakes his head so quickly it startles her. “Hell no. He's staying with me."

It takes a moment for this information to process. He's staying with the Police Chief? Why?

When the confusion is evident on her face this time, the Chief complies. “After last July I got wind that Neil was hitting Billy. The old man got a note in his file and a restraining order and Billy got the spare bedroom.”

Neil's abuse is no surprise, but it stings no less when she thinks of what she subjected her son to for so many years. She lets out a long breath and smiles at Hopper with all the gratefulness she can muster. “Thank you for doing that.”

“‘Course.” He leans back in his chair, adds “I did it for the kid, not you.”

She nods again, looks down at her chipped red nailpolish. He’s being tough on her, but she can’t say she doesn’t deserve it.

It’s silent for a few moments. The phone can be heard ringing somewhere in the station.

“Tell you what,” Hopper finally says, “I’ll talk to him first and let him decide if he wants to see you.”

At that Donna perks up. She can feel a smile growing on her face and a hope blooming in her chest. 

As if picking up on her enthusiasm, Hopper gives her a hard look and raises two fingers. “On two conditions,” he explains. “One: You give him two weeks to decide and leave him alone unless he comes to you, and two: If he doesn’t want to see you, you leave a phone number and go back to where you came from. Everything happens on his terms.”

They shake on it.

\------ 

When Donna gets back to her car, she cries. 

She knows that she likely looks like a lunatic with her big hair and a smile as she cries alone in her tiny car on a Saturday afternoon, but she can’t bring herself to care. She feels relieved and scared and happy and anxious all at once, and the emotions just pour out of her.

For the first time since 1977, Donna has a decent chance at seeing her son. With the best of luck, she’ll be speaking to him in a manner of days. And even if he doesn’t want to see her, he’ll be able to contact her, and most importantly know that she was _here_. To see him, to show him that she still cares.

She won’t even have to see Neil.

It’s part of what kept her away for all these years, she shamefully admits. He still scares her, that aggressive son-of-a-bitch, and confronting him is right up on her list of fears with giant grizzly bears and earthquakes. 

But Billy is living with Hopper now, and despite the large man’s intimidating stare, she can tell that he cares about her son. Billy has a good dad now, she thinks happily, immediately less happy when she realizes she hadn’t considered Hopper’s probable wife. Maybe Billy even has a decent mom now and won’t need Donna at all.

Trying to focus on the many positives, Donna pulls out of the police station parking lot a few minutes later and heads back to the main road for some food. She could kill for a burger right about now. The last time she had eaten anything was breakfast at the motel, and that was hours ago.

She parks the Allegro in a free spot in front of the laundromat and begins walking toward _Rudy’s Diner_ about a block away. It’s a sunny and pleasant 65°, and the ice cream parlor she is walking by is well attended judging by the amount of cars lining the road. The midnight blue Camaro is far out, she decides.

She glances in the parlor as she walks by, as one is wont to do when the windows are big and one likes people watching as much as Donna does. The shop is indeed well attended.

The tables are filled mostly by teenagers, but some families had made an outing that afternoon. The table closest to the window is occupied by a teenage (probably) couple. The girl, with wavy, shoulder length hair is dressed almost entirely in black and is wearing dark eyeliner, while her companion is sporting tall, made up hair and a crisp looking polo. They look like such an unlikely couple, or friendship, that it makes Donna smile.

She looks away and continues walking when a head of golden curls in the corner of her vision makes her stop.

Donna turns.

It doesn’t matter that she hasn’t seen her son in nine years. She recognizes Billy immediately.

He’s tall and strong. Handsome. Sporting a wicked grin as he plops himself down at the table with the unlikely couple, next to the boy with the tall hair. His own hair falls in golden curls, remnants of an outgrown mullet, that bounce on the shoulders of the dark Stevie Nicks t-shirt he’s wearing. His eyes crinkle as he laughs at something the boy says and she can’t believe he still holds his hand to his chest when he laughs, just like he did when she was the one making him do it.

The giant milkshake he was carrying includes three straws and is now set in the middle of the table. The girl takes a sip and Billy steals a strawberry.

Donna can’t believe she’s finally seeing her son.

He looks relaxed. He looks _happy_.

She could cry, almost starts to.

She knows their relationship has to happen on his terms. She had promised Hopper that she would respect boundaries and knows that it’s her best chance at making amends, she can't confront him now. Luckily, his attention seems solely focused on his friends, but the big windows will not hide Donna from his eyes forever. She has to go

It takes all of her energy to turn away from Billy and walk away.

She knows he’s alive, she knows he’s healthy, and she knows he’s happy. Even if she doesn’t get to see him, Donna feels like she can finally breathe. 

  
  



	2. The World Shifts (Billy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll usually update once a week, but i'm on a roll right now, so here's an early update with an extra long glance at billy's pov.
> 
> enjoy!

“You can’t seriously think that vanilla is better than chocolate chip.” Robin shoots Steve an incredulous look as they leave _Krueger’s Ice Cream_. 

Billy tries to conceal his grin as Steve tries to defend himself. “Vanilla is a classic! It’s sweet and good and superior to all other flavors by, like, a mile. Plus, it goes with everything!”

“Oh my god,” Robin groans. “It goes with everything because it tastes like nothing, dweeb. Billy, help me out here.”

Billy chuckles, gives Steve an apologetic glance. “I gotta agree with Buckley here, pretty boy. Vanilla just doesn’t cut it.”

Robin cackles at the (somewhat) unintentional innuendo while Steve pouts at him in that adorable way he always does. Billy looks away for the sake of his own sanity.

“Okay, losers,” Robin says as they reach where the cars are parked. “Are we going back to Steve’s?”

Steve shrugs. “We could.”

The three of them hang out at Steve’s a lot, given the freedoms of the giant and empty house. There’s always plenty of food and money, but Robin and Billy have an unspoken agreement that one of them is to sleep at this house at least once a week. Steve won’t say he’s lonely, but Billy can see right through him. He wants to punch Steve’s parents for consistently being gone as long as they are, even if it does let him sleep at Steve’s far more than it would otherwise.

Right now though, Billy can’t go to the quasi-mansion. “Sorry. I promised Hop I’d help with dinner.” 

“Okay,” Robin gives him a quick hug goodbye. “Are you coming to lunch at the Byers’ tomorrow?”

“Ya, I’ll be there.”

He watches Robin give him a thumbs up as she gets into the passenger side of the Beemer. Steve lingers.

“You good?”, he asks Billy. He does this sporadically. Billy knows it stems from the guilt about last summer, and no matter how many times Billy tells him that it’s fine, he doesn’t need a damn babysitter, they both know he appreciates the concern. Now, Steve’s stupid hair is falling in his eyes and he pushes it back. Billy watches as it flops back into his face a second later.

“Yeah, actually.” He smiles. “Better than in a long time.”

Steve grins, pulls him in for a hug. He smells like mint and that ridiculous hair spray he always uses, and is an _excellent_ hugger. Billy melts just a little bit.

“See you tomorrow, B,” Steve mumbles as he pulls away.

As Billy watches the Beemer pull out of the spot and drive off, he can’t help the dopey smile on his face.

It may have taken him a while to admit it, but Billy is well past denying (to himself, at least) that he has the biggest, most pathetic crush on Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High, and Babysitter Extraordinaire. It really isn’t his fault. 

When Neil had dragged his ass to Indiana, Billy had given up on the whole boys thing until he moved out. He ran far too high a risk living with his old man and getting crushes, so he decided to just leave it be. He would keep his head down, flirt with the girls, and fuck one every now and then just to keep his reputation going. It was a foolproof plan.

Then, as fate would have it, Steve fucking Harrington walked into that stupid Halloween party with his stupid grin and his stupid hair and that stupid girl by his side and all of Billy’ rules went out the window. He wanted him. _Bad._

And when the King of Hawkins High took off those ridiculous sunglasses, there was simply no way out. Billy had never considered himself much of a romantic, but those big Bambi eyes had him thinking of _cute_ shit, stuff he’d never given much thought to before. He wanted to take Steve on cheesy movie dates and hold his hand and kiss every little mole on his face. 

That’s not to say that Billy didn’t also want to be fucked into the mattress by him until he couldn’t remember his name, because _god_ he did, but that was an entirely different story. 

But while Neil was around, Billy knew to keep his distance. He pulled at Steve’s pigtails and got satisfaction out of riling him up, telling himself that it was enough because it had to be.

Now that he is out of the picture, though, and Steve had become his friend, Billy feels it's becoming all the more difficult to hold back his urge to kiss the lights out of him.

Someday, maybe, Billy tells himself.

\---------

Jane and Hopper are already in the kitchen when he gets home. The small house smells strongly of onions and tomatoes, so Billy guesses they’re making tomato sauce. A glance in the kitchen tells him he’s right.

“Hey,” he greets them, “Sorry I’m a bit late.”

“Billy!” Jane looks up from where she was carefully measuring out noodles. There are stains all over the apron she’s wearing and her hair is haphazardly tied up and sticks out in strange angles. She looks adorable. “Did you have fun?”

“Yup,” Billy answers as he hangs up his jacket (denim, of course). “Did you?”

She nods. “We sat around and did nothing for an hour.”

Billy laughed. “Sounds riveting.”

“Riveting?” It was easy to forget that Jane had yet to learn so much of the language, as she spoke relatively normally now. Simpler than others at times, sure, but she easily blended in with her peers. Hopper was impossibly proud of her. Billy was too.

“It’s another word for exciting,” he clarifies. Jane nods and repeats it back to him. He nods, gives her a thumbs up.

Hopper is unusually quiet as he stirs the sauce in the pan and adds spices. He’s still in his police uniform under the colorful apron he’s wearing (a gift from Jane), though he’s wearing his ratty old slippers. It makes for an amusing image.

“Anything I can help with, Hop?”, Billy asks him.

“Uh-” Hop seems to shake himself out of something. “You could make the salad. Stuff’s in the fridge.”

“On it.”

The kitchen is filled with idle chat and the occasional singalong as the family cooks. Hopper remains unusually quiet, but Jane and Billy leave him be, knowing it the better option when he gets in this mood. When _Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go_ comes on the radio, Jane learns that for all of his metalhead talk, Billy sure has a love for _Wham!._ She has to promise not to tell. 

By the time they sit down for dinner, Jane is in an exceedingly animated mood, Billy is entertaining it, and Hopper seems completely stuck in his own head,

He does, however, try to pretend he isn’t. “This is good, kid,” he tells Billy, referring to the salad.

“All I did was throw stuff in a bowl.” Billy shrugs. He doesn’t often show it, but he appreciates the praise after having been deprived of it for so long. He didn’t realize how important the little pats on the back were until he was receiving them.

“Still good,” Jane insists.

Billy smiles. “Thanks, Janie.” 

He had taken to calling the curly haired girl Jane, mostly Janie, despite the fact that most everyone calls her El. To him, saving dehumanizing names from piece-of-shit dads just wasn't in the cards. Of course, it helped that he had never known her as El.

While Hopper and Billy eat mostly in silence -- Hopper due to his mood and Billy because habits are hard to break -- Jane rambles on about her day. She tells them about Dustin’s dope new jacket and Will’s joke that had them all in tears. How Mike is annoyed at Holly for constantly stealing his pens and Max is loving the new _Rush_ album, while Lucas is obsessed with his camo slap bracelet. She tells them about their collective dismay now that Easter Break is over.

A few months ago, Billy knows he would’ve been beyond bored with all of this useless information, but the enthusiasm with which Jane delivers it has him laughing along and commenting in all the right places. It might also have something to do with the affection he has begun to feel for the obnoxious “party”, but Billy likes to pretend he isn’t as smitten with the bunch as he is.

Luckily, the party seems to have accepted him as a member after last summer. Of course, he had apologized to all of them, especially Lucas, and undergone a three month trial before he was fully integrated, but the sincerity with which he steadily learned to be better and kinder had won them all over. It may have also been the quarters he continuously gave them for the arcade, but they would deny that if asked.

The small family begins to clear the table around 7.45pm, and Billy, given laundry duty this month, leaves the others to it and heads into the den to take down the dry sheets. 

As always, the small room, which serves primarily as storage for junk and the washing machine, smells musty and humid. Billy begins folding the sheets and hums _Wham!_ under his breath, which is still stuck in his head from earlier. His thoughts drift, not for the first time, to the radical one-eighty his life has undergone.

Just a year ago, Billy would’ve wanted to punch himself, or more likely someone else, if he saw himself taking down laundry unprompted and humming what his father had deemed “faggot music”. And while those urges were still very much present in him, Billy finds that they are growing weaker by the day. 

With so much unconditional support around him, most of which he feels he _definitely_ doesn’t deserve, he lets himself breathe just a little bit. He wears his patterned shirts, and dances to _Prince_ with his very much male crush, and had even let Jane paint his nails once or twice. Billy's still careful, of course, he’s very aware that he still lives in a fucking Midwestern small town, but he lets himself believe that it’s okay to be himself, even just a little bit. It feels good.

When Billy returns to the living area after putting away the linens, Jane and Hopper are sprawled about the couch in their usual fashion: Hopper leaning back with his legs stretched out under the table and taking up most of the loveseat, and Jane next to him with her knees drawn up to her chest and her gaze firmly on the TV. Clearly, Hooper had caved this evening as NBC’s _Family Ties_ is on, even though he hates the show. Jane eats it up.

“I’ll be in my room,” Billy tells them.

They bid him goodbye as he disappears down to the end of the hall.

His room had previously been the guest bedroom, but is now very clearly that of its inhibitor. There are a number of posters on the wall, most of which depict various bands and singers, and the clutter of tapes, pens, and books show that it’s very much lived in. Billy may have only been living in it for the eight months since his release from the hospital, but he has already let more personality seep into the bedroom than his old one on Cherry Road ever had, and he lived there for nearly a full year. He revels in the privacy he had never gotten with Neil (though he still knows to hide the weed -- he lives with the Police Chief, after all), but still cleans regularly and, though he knows Hopper doesn’t snoop, hides all evidence of his sexuality in the small space behind the heater. In fall, when he maybe, just maybe, goes off to college, he can really unwind the wires Neil had wrapped so tightly around him.

Billy lays down on his immaculately made bed (see: habits are hard to break) and opens his copy of _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. His father hadn’t allowed Wilde in the house, which, as Billy was discovering, had been a shame, but not entirely unwarranted for a bigoted asshole. The novel is strewn with sexual innuendos and intimate descriptions, predominantly of men. It’s an excellent read.

When Billy hears Jane settle down in the room next to him, he looks up from his novel and realizes that it’s nearing ten. He’s still worn out from taking the early shift at the garage that morning and knows if he wants to work out before lunch at the Byers’, he should get to bed soon. Just as he gets up from the bed, he hears a knock on his door.

“Can I come in?,” Hopper asks, and wasn’t that just _luxury_.

“Yeah,” Billy responds, adding “I was just getting ready for bed” as the large man comes in.

Noticing the way Hopper fiddles with the zipper of his hoodie and taking in the flitting movement of his eyes, Billy gets nervous. “Am I in trouble?”

Quickly, the Chief shakes his head. “No- no, not at all, just-”, he takes a deep breath. “You might want to sit down.”

Billy does as he is told, braces himself for either “the gate opened back up”, or “someone died”, or “you have to move out, because we finally realized you don’t really belong with us and you aren’t our responsibility.” All three options seem plausible to him.

What he isn’t expecting is for Hopper to sit down at his desk chair across from him, swallow, and say: “Your mother came looking for you at the station today.”

There’s a beat of silence. Jane can be heard using the walkie-talkie next door, knowing she isn’t supposed to after 9pm. Hopper makes no move to stop her.

“What?” It’s the only thing he thinks he can physically say.

“Your mother,” Hopper repeats. He continues slowly, measuring out his words. “She wants to see you, but I told her I would talk to you first. Everything that does or doesn’t happen is on your terms. You call the shots, Billy.”

Billy’s brain short-circuits. His _mother_? Of the people he was expecting in Hawkins, Indiana, she was somewhere under Tom Cruise and Queen Elizabeth II. He’d long since resigned to never seeing her again. 

Does he even want to see her? Sure, he’d spent years of his childhood yearning for her and praying that she would come find him and save him from his father, but now, with an actual complicated patchwork of something resembling a family, his desire to see her had been diminished. Not to mention that for the last couple years, all that Billy had been able to feel toward his mother was the discomfort of an old sting and a whole lot of indignation. 

“Why now? What does she want?” Billy hears himself asking the questions as they cross his mind.

“She claims she’s been looking since ‘77, but it seems Neil did a pretty good job of hiding you,” Hopper explains, still speaking slowly. He knows that the subject of Billy’s mom is a fragile one and doesn’t want to set the teen off. “She read your name in an article about July and came as soon as she could. I’ll let her explain what exactly she’s here for, but the gist of it is simple: She wants to see you, try and make amends.” 

Billy nods and processes this information. Hopper continues.

“There’s no pressure at all from me. I told her to give you two weeks to decide if you want to see her, and if you don’t, she’ll leave a number and let you be. It helps to have the Chief on your side.” Hopper’s joke falls a little flat.

They sit in silence for a minute as Billy tries to sort the millions of thoughts running through his mind. He’s somewhere between exasperation, sadness, and anger as he finally grasps the reality of the situation. Because it’s what he knows best, he latches on to the latter emotion.

As he feels the rage build inside of him, Billy abruptly stands up and tries to take deep breaths, just like his therapist had told him to do. His blood boils.

Hopper gets up too, knowing not to touch Billy when he gets this way, but not sure what he can do. “Hey,” he tries, “You’ve got time to figure it out. No pressure.”

Billy kicks his bed frame so hard that it rattles. He knows he has to calm down, and he _wants_ to. There’s only one thing he’s certain will help, so he pushes past Hopper, strides into the hallway and grabs his keys. 

“I need some air,” is all he gets out before he slams the door behind him.

The quiet night is interrupted by a roar of a motor as the Camaro springs to life. Hopper sighs, reaches for the phone in the hall.

\------

When Billy arrives at Steve’s, he can still feel the hot rage in his system. He had punched the wheel a few times, shouted a plethora of curse words until he was breathless, and bit on his lip until it bled, but he did not feel any better.

What the _hell_ gave Donna fucking Hargrove the right to show up in Hawkins? What gave her the right to show up in his _life_?

To Billy’s surprise, the front door opens just as he’s getting out of his car, and the light behind Steve makes him look like a damn prophet of the Lord. He’s already in his ridiculous matching pajama set and Billy’s heart clenches as the rest of his body is put slightly at ease.

“Hop called, said you might show up,” Steve tells him as Billy ambles up the stairs.

He pushes past Steve and into the large foyer. “He say why?”

“No, he said it was your-” Steve cuts himself off. “Jesus, Billy, your knuckles!”

Looking down at his hands, Billy sees that three of the knuckles on his left hand have split. He hadn’t even noticed. “It’s fine-”, he starts, but Steve shuts him up.

“No, it’s not fucking fine,” he half-shouts exasporatedly. “Stop downplaying the fact that you’re literally hurting yourself, asshole.” 

“I don’t need a babysitter, Harrington,” Billy retorts. He knows he’s being a dick, but he doesn’t know how not to be. He feels like a wounded animal lashing out.

Steve scoffs. “Look like you fucking do though, huh? You keep doing dumb shit and then leaving me to clean it up!”

The fact that Steve loses his temper with him for being angry, is what always calms Billy in its own weird way. He doesn’t like seeing Steve cross, so he has to calm down to make it stop. Most people shy away when Billy rages, get scared, but Steve just throws the fire right back at him and makes him see how shitty he’s being.

Billy sets his jaw, but stays silent. He won’t admit defeat, but Steve knows he’s won.

The brunet sighs, briefly hangs his head so that his stupid hair falls in his face. “Just-”, he hesitates, “Let me.”

At the defeated, crestfallen look on his face, Billy feels himself deflate. “Lead the way.”

Steve complies, takes Billy into the upstairs bathroom, and gets out the First-Aid kit. It had considerably grown in size in the past few years, due both to the Upside Down stuff and Billy’s fits, which were getting fewer, but not none. Billy ended up at Steve’s after them nine times out of ten.

He lets Steve sit him down on the toilet seat as he perches on the edge of the bathtub. Gently, Steve takes the bloodied hand into his own and begins to disinfect it, softly apologizing when the burn makes Billy wince.

Billy lets out a small incredulous laugh. “I cannot believe you’re apologizing to me right now, you damn mother hen.”

Steve smiles, doesn’t argue.

When his hand is bandaged, Billy gets up, helps Steve pack up the kit. There’s a silent understanding between them that Billy will talk when he’s ready, so Steve doesn’t ask.

“You want anything to eat or drink?”, he asks instead. Sometimes Billy will have milk and honey before bed, but that reminder of this mother is the last thing he needs right now.

He shakes his head. “Can we just- call it a day?”

Steve nods, and they walk down the hall into his room. The blinds are already drawn and the bed looks just lain in. With a twinge of guilt, Billy realizes he had made Steve get up because of his stupid temper.

Without having to ask, Billy grabs his pajama pants from where they are next to the radiator and changes quickly. He joins Steve who, as always, lies on the left side of the bed, and pulls the covers up to his chin. Steve stretches to switch off the light and Billy’s eyes track the movement. It makes for a wonderful distraction.

Now that the light is off, however, Billy feels the world catch up with him. He takes deep breaths and tries to match his rhythm to Steve’s, who he knows is deliberately breathing louder.

Before Billy spirals, he opens his mouth. “My mom is in Hawkins.”

His voice is small, but Steve hears him loud and clear. “What?”, he asks after a beat.

Billy snorts. “Yeah, that was my first question too.” He’s disguising his heartache under a poor attempt at humor.

Steve, of course, sees right through it and doesn’t indulge him. “Why is your mom in Hawkins?”

“To see me.”

It’s dark, but Billy knows Steve’s distressed expression. It morphs into one of some sort of resignation. “Well, fuck.”

Billy can’t help but let out a watery laugh at that. One of the many things he likes about Steve is that he doesn’t try and sugarcoat things that outright suck. He just acknowledges that they do, and then they can move on from there. After all the sympathetic words of hopeful encouragement he heard after last summer, Steve’s candor is a breath of fresh air. Billy almost hears him smile in the darkness.

“What are you gonna do?”, Steve asks after a beat, “Do you want to see her?”

Billy lets out a long breath. “I don’t know,” he finally answers. “I was so resigned to not seeing her again, and then the bitch shows up out of nowhere just when things have gone from shit to better.”

“I get that.”

They lay in silence for a bit, both mulling over the new information in their heads. The night is windy and the woods outside of the Harrington house are noisy as the breeze rustles in the leaves. The smell of Steve’s shampoo wafts into Billy’s nose.

Eventually, he speaks up, explains Donna’s agreement with Hopper to Steve. “I get that she wants to see me, really” he adds, “I just really don’t know if my psychologically fragile ass can handle facing her after finally feeling like I have my life together without her.” Billy curses himself for the way his voice chokes around the words. He feels pathetic for crying over his fucking absentee mom when he’s turning nineteen in fourteen days. The toxic part of his brain starts shouting at him.

As if reading his mind, Steve scoots closer, drapes an arm around Billy’s middle and languidly runs his fingers up and down his bare back, not avoiding the marred skin like many might. Billy shivers, the voice quiets. They cuddle sometimes, when nightmares get bad and brains won’t shut up, and they never talk about it the next morning, but both know it helps. Because the universe hates Billy, Steve is a brilliant cuddler.

“You’re stronger than you think, you know.” The voice by Billy’s ear is impossibly quiet now. “And besides, you don’t have to carry the weight on your own anymore.”

Billy nods, buries his face deeper into Steve’s fancy flannel nightshirt, but stays silent. He can feel the brunet hesitate, and sighs encouragingly when he feels the fingers of Steve’s left hand in his curls. He wishes they did this when neither of them were upset. 

“If I do it, will you come with me?”, Billy hears himself ask.

“Of course.”

  
  



	3. Collision (Donna)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear i was planning to upload this on the weekend, but this chapter was a challenging write, so here it is now. 
> 
> as someone who has grown up consistently close to their mom, i find it really hard to even begin to understand and write about the emotional baggage of abandonment, but i'm trying my best. the interaction in this chapter was really hard to fathom and i tried to keep it as realistic as i could. i hope it worked to a reasonable extent.
> 
> enjoy!

There’s only one inn in Hawkins, and it’s an old motel on the east edge of town. It’s small, and Donna hears that stupid mutt the clerk owns bark all through the night, but it’s clean and cheap and she has no right to be picky in Hawkins, Indiana. She probably deserves to stay in a shitty motel, Donna thinks, as some twisted form of Karma. 

After her meeting with Hopper and that fateful afternoon sight of Billy, she stays out of the town center and bids her time. She sleeps in, reads, goes on long walks and drives, and tries to think of what she would say to Billy if he did want to see her. She teeters between boredom and anxiety, the hope of seeing her son is all that keeps her going. She spends a lot of time running scenarios of meeting him through her head.

She’ll have to be gentle with him, but also firm enough to let him know that she means it. She needs to explain her situation without sounding like she’s making up excuses, and find a way to insert herself into his life without being smothering and ruining the family he has with Hopper. The whole thing is overwhelming, but there’s no dilemma she would rather be facing.

On Tuesday, three long and excruciating days after her arrival, Donna returns to the motel in the late afternoon. She had driven over to Somerset for some lunch, not wanting to risk seeing Billy in town, and had taken a detour back through the rain. As heliophilic as she was, April showers had always had a certain magic to them. Billy had loved them, and she wondered if he still did.

She’s locking up her Allegro on the pot-hole infested parking lot when she hears someone calling her name. The clerk from the front desk stands in the doorway and calls out to her, clearly not wanting to get wet. She goes to him.

He’s a stout man of middle age, though his hairline is more than halfway past his head. There’s Ketchup in his moustache. “Mrs. Richardson,” he says, “There was a call for you about twenty mintues ago. Said to call back here.”

Donna’s heart skips a beat as the man hands her what looks to be an old receipt with a number on the back. It’s messy, but she’s always had a knack for deciphering messy handwriting.

She thanks him in such a sincere manner that she’s sure it startles him and turns away toward the long hall. Donna prays that it’s good news, that Billy wants to see her.

Back in her small and uncomfortably dank room, she takes a deep breath and tries to gather her courage. She takes a seat on the faded beige duvet and, with shaking hands, picks up the receiver on the nightstand. She dials the number.

With every dial tone, Donna feels her pulse quicken. 

After four rings, a girl’s voice answers the phone. “Hopper residence,” she says. Her words sound calculated, newly learned. Donna wonders if Billy has a sister now.

She composes herself. “This is Donna Richardson. Is the Chief home?”

“Wait.”

She hears shuffling on the other end of the line, some muffled voices. 

“Mrs. Richardson?” This gruff voice is more familiar to her.

“Just Donna, please.” She’s shaking. “Sorry, I was getting food earlier, but uh- you called?” 

Hopper takes a deep breath, then gets straight to the point. “He’s willing to meet you.”

Donna’s breath catches. “Really?”

“Yeah, I was surprised too.” There’s an almost humorous resignation to his words.

“That’s-” Donna searches for the right words, comes up with nothing. “That’s great.”

“Listen,” Hopper starts. She can hear him adjust the receiver. “I hope it goes well, I really do, but just try and take it slow, don’t overwhelm him. Billy’s understandably reluctant to do this and I need you to give him some space. Don’t ask him about Neil, don’t ask him about last summer, and for shit’s sake, do _not_ expect him to forgive you immediately. It’s not how he’s wired.”

Donna nods, takes mental note of Hoppers words. “I won’t and I don’t. I’ll be careful, I promise. I know it doesn’t mean much from me now, but I really do just want what’s best for him.”

“Good. And uh- Don’t walk eggshells around him and treat him like a child. He’ll be nineteen, he’s not ten anymore.” 

“Got it.”

Donna hears commotion on Hopper’s side of the line. He’s telling someone to leave the door open. 

“Can you do tomorrow at two?”, he asks when he gets back on the line. “At the coffee joint on Shaker Street?”

Donna nods, even though she knows he can’t see her. “Yeah, sure. I’m not otherwise booked,” she jokes halfheartedly.

Hopper huffs, mildly amused. “Right. Well-” There’s another disruption behind him. “I gotta go, but keep all I said in mind yeah? And he’ll be bringing a friend.”

Donna opens her mouth to ask about the friend, but Hopper hangs up.

She lays the phone back on the receiver and sits absolutely still for a moment, letting this new reality sink in. When it does, she has to catch her breath. She grins, tries not to cry again. 

Tomorrow, she thinks, she’ll see her son.

\------

The next day, Donna wakes up as late as eleven. She had spent most of the night tossing and turning, and had not fallen asleep until the early morning hours. This way, at least she won’t have to be anxious for as long.

She showers and, uncertain if she can stomach any real food, helps herself to a yogurt from the mini-bar.

With two and a half hours to kill, Donna goes outside and sits herself on the hood of her Allegro to bask in the sun, which has chosen to come out this morning. It’s weak in Indiana, she’s noticed, but it still calms her in the way it always does.

She scribbles away in her notebook as she sits on her car, attracting curious glances from the few people that see her, but she pays them no mind. She needs to clear her head and sort out her emotions before she sees Billy, and writing down her thoughts when her mind gets too full always helps.

The yellowed pages of her notebook fill with things she has to say, phrased the way she needs to say them. She jots down questions she wants to ask Billy and some basic, but interesting conversation starters. While she wants to have a serious conversation with Billy, she doesn’t want it to be stoic and stiff. More than anything, she wants to be able to hear about his life.

While Donna is scared, her heart soars at the thought of getting to know her son. She knows nothing about him now, and wonders how he will be. Will he be an athlete, play football or basketball or do track, getting him scholarship offers from scouts? Maybe he’s a writer, she muses, and spends hours a day putting pen to paper, creating stories to escape into. He might be into science and obsessed with wacky formulas she can never understand, set on putting a man on mars. Is he a jokester? Interested in politics? A musician?

She knows he likes Stevie Nicks enough to wear her on a t-shirt, and the bittersweet memory of singing along to _Songbird_ with him as they drive along the coast comes back to her. Does he remember it too?

She can’t wait to find out. 

At one thirty, Donna gets up from her car and heads back into the room to get ready. She wants to look nice, but not like she’s trying too hard. It’s not a date, of course, but she still has that same urge to make the right impression, though in this case it’s less of a first impression and more of a shot at redemption. 

After some contemplation, Donna settles for a dark denim skirt and a lilac blouse, her hair open and wild. She opts for her sneakers, so as to be casual rather than stuffy, and applies minimal makeup, pairing it with simple gold seashell earrings. In the end, she looks put together, but not overly so. She considers this her first success.

Her second success is that while Donna is a notoriously late person, she parks her car a block from the coffeeshop at 1:56 pm. She takes a deep breath, checks her makeup in the mirror for the upteenth time, and begins walking toward it.

The bell above the door jingles loudly as she enters. Donna feels the eyes of the café goers on her, and a lady with bright red hair and too much foundation gives her a scrutinizing glance. Internally, Donna rolls her eyes.

Her blue eyes scan the room scattered with tables and soon lock with ones that match her own. She freezes, the door slams loudly behind her.

Billy is already here.

He's sitting at a table near the back, facing the door. The boy with the tall hair from the ice cream shop is with him.

Albeit tenser, Billy looks just as handsome as he did when she had seen him briefly on that Saturday afternoon. He's wearing a dark blue shirt and light jeans, with battered looking Reeboks that match her own. His face is illegible.

More nervous than she feels she's ever been, Donna smiles and begins walking toward the pair. 

The brunet beside Billy stands up slowly, elbows Billy into mirroring his movements a moment later. They seem close. 

They all stand for a moment, the table between them, the silence thick.

"Billy," Donna says then, as a way of greeting. It comes out sounding something like a sigh.

Her son doesn't respond for a beat, then, raspily, she hears him say "mom" and thinks she could cry on the spot. It's the first time she's heard his voice in nine years.

Instinctively, she reaches out to touch him, but she only grazes his forearm before he recoils. She wholeheartedly understands, but she can’t say it doesn’t sting.

The boy with the tall hair, in what she’s sure must be an effort to ease the tension, holds out his hand for Donna to shake. “I’m Steve,” he says, “One of Billy’s friends.”

Donna smiles. He’s cute in an East Coast sort of way, handsome but familiar. Steve is all gentle lines where Billy is hard strokes. They make a nice pair, she decides. 

She shakes his hand. “Donna,” she tells him by way of introduction, “But I’m sure you knew that.”

Steve nods and takes his seat. Billy and Donna follow his lead. 

“It’s good to see you,” Donna smiles. “You’ve grown.”

“It’d be weird if I hadn’t.” There’s a slight uptick of Billy’s lips as he delivers the line and she thinks it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“It would be,” she laughs breathily.

There’s a few beats of silence

Donna is about to open her mouth when a waitress comes to the table. She’s tall and skinny with a dark perm and lipstick on her teeth. Her name tag reads _Mandy._ “Can I get you anything?”, she asks the table.

Steve orders a latte and Billy thinks for a moment, then asks for a black coffee with two sugars. Donna wonders if it’s possible that coffee preferences are hereditary and asks for the same. It’s her usual order.

When Mandy walks off, her heels loud on the wooden floor, silence befalls the table once again and Donna takes it upon herself to break it.

“Chief Hopper says you’re doing well,” she tries.

Billy shrugs. “Guess so. No thanks to you”

Donna looks down at the table and hears Steve whisper something in Billy’s ear. Billy apologizes.

“Do you like living with him?”, she tries again.

Billy takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Hop’s good and he has this adorable daughter Jane. I got my own room.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” she smiles. “He seems like a good guy.”

Billy nods and smiles tightly down at his lap. There's another beat of silence.

“I assume you guys are done with school?”, she asks. It’s a safe topic, she thinks, and will get her closer to understanding her son’s life.

The pair nod and after Billy does not, Steve speaks up. “Yeah, we finished last summer.”

“What are you up to now then?”

“Steve here works at Home Video,” Billy says with a teasing lilt. Steve gives him a narrow-eyed sarcastic smile. “And uh- I work part-time at the auto shop.”

Donna thinks she must look like an over-enthusiastic therapist with the way she reacts to this simple information, but she’s always been bad at nonchalance. “Are you interested in cars?”

Billy shrugs. “Not like, to a weird extent, but they’re cool. I know a thing or two about them, and the job is fun.”

Donna is about to respond, but Steve beats her to it. “Not to weird extent, you say? You would literally marry the Camaro if it was legal.” 

Billy bickers back, and suddenly Donna feels as if she’s listening in on a piece of their friendship, a piece of Billy’s life. Her heart soars.

“Wait,” she interrupts them. “You have a Camaro? The blue one?”

Billy nods.

“I saw it parked on Saturday and admired it. It’s totally ace.”

Billy seems to genuinely appreciate the compliment and smiles, sticks his tongue out at Steve for good measure. The brunet shakes his head, but smiles fondly, and Donna is so happy that Billy has him. It’s really not an appropriate question to ask, especially considering her position, but Donna briefly wonders if they’re more than friends.

She opts for a far safer question. “How do you two know each other?”

“High school,” Steve answers, “though we really weren’t friends by any stretch.”

Donna cocks her head, silently asking what changed.

“We were both involved in the shit last summer and then the rivalry seemed trivial,” Billy explains. It’s clear that he really doesn’t want to elaborate.

Donna nods. After a moment, she exclaims, “you’re Steve Harrington.” 

Steve frowns. “How do you know that?”

“Your name was the _Chronicle_ with Billy’s. I practically know the article by heart.” She’s not lying about that. In fact, Donna has the article cut out and folded in her wallet, and the paper has been taken out so many times that it nearly feels like fabric.

“You still live in San Francisco,” Billy remarks flatly. She reckons he knows the newspaper.

Donna nods. “I was only in Portland for about two months.”

The silence grows thick again. A man is ordering a bagel at the counter and an engine revs outside. Donna tries to think of what to say. She wants to change the topic, but doesn’t know how to do so without being blatantly obvious and ignoring why she really came.

She knows she needs to face the music, she’s been avoiding it for long enough. She takes a deep breath. “I came back for you right after, but the house was empty. Your principal said you were no longer enrolled at Alamo, and no one had any information. I didn’t know what to do.”

Billy laughs lightly, but instead of the mirth she was hearing just minutes before, it’s cold, menacing. “I don’t know,” he muses, “maybe don’t leave in the first place?”

Donna swallows and wills herself not to cry. “I’m so sorry, Billy. I know it’s not nearly enough to say it, but I truly am. I never meant to leave you with Neil. I was in a really bad place and I needed to get my head straight, but I had every intention of coming back for you.”

Billy says nothing, but his icy eyes speak volumes. Steve swallows beside him.

“Where did you go?”, she asks. Her voice is quiet, desperate.

“Santa Barbara,” Billy says. His voice is gruff, and Donna hears some similarity to the way Hopper speaks when he’s guarded. “Neil said he wanted a fresh start or whatever.”

“Did you get it?”, Donna inquires, “A fresh start, I mean?”

Billy shrugs. “I mean, yeah. New house, new school, new city. He remarried a few months later, so I got a fucking little sister.” He’s clearly mad about the situation, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his face at the mention of his sister.

Donna smiles a little sadly. “I'm glad it all worked out.”

Quickly, Billy looks up with a frigid, incredulous look. “It _worked out_?"

"That's-", Donna backtracks, "that's not what I meant.'

"I literally almost killed Steve two Octobers ago because I was that fucked in the head.” His tone is so menacing that Donna feels she might cry.

She startles at his words and hears Steve telling Billy that it's okay, to calm down.

“Billy-”, she starts, desperate to get back to cordiality, but he gets up abruptly.

He mumbles “I can’t do this” and begins to walk out. Donna feels herself crumble.

“B”, Steve tries, and in any other scenario Donna would smile at the nickname of a nickname, but Billy is already at the door.

Steve turns to Donna, apologizes with a sympathetic smile, and follows her son out of the shop.

The coffee has gone cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's far more of this relationship coming (obviously), so please let me know what you did/didn't like or what needs to be said between them. i have a plan, but your input is always appreciated. :)


	4. Four Eggos and a Joint or Two (Billy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COVID-19 but to the tune of come on eileen
> 
> but more to that later. for now: enjoy the chapter!

When Billy wakes the next morning, he needs a moment to collect his bearings.

He’s in his own bed, he quickly deduces, though the way the sheets lay to his left suggest that he wasn’t alone. Steve slept over.

In one big wave, the events of Wednesday come back to him. He recalls meeting his mother, the coffee that they served too hot, and the way Steve’s shirt made his shoulders look incredibly distracting, and while that last anecdote may be a contender, the first was arguably more formative.

Despite the years that had passed, Donna had looked just the same apart from a few more lines on her face. Her curls were still huge and golden and her eyes are a carbon copy of Billy’s, though biologically speaking, his are a copy of hers. She had looked just as vibrant and beautiful as he had thought her as a child. After all this time, Billy was beginning to doubt his imaginative and romanticizing mind in its image of his mother, but it was right. 

Too bad that he’s a fragile fucked up mess and can’t even stomach to try to soak it up.

It’s her fault anyhow, he thinks.

He’s just about to get out of bed and see if Steve has already left when his door opens quietly. Steve peeks inside.

“You’re up,” he smiles. He opens the door to reveal himself, clad in Billy’s worn _Iron Maiden_ t-shirt, carrying a plate of eggos. Billy feels his heart might explode.

“Jeez, pretty boy,” he teases, “I thought this was a casual thing, you didn’t have to make me breakfast.” 

He’s being obnoxious, he knows, but he’s far more comfortable with that than expressing his gratitude. Besides, Steve blushes so easily that he would be a fool not to get to see it when it’s so easy to procure.

The tinges of pink on Steve’s cheeks show that he’s succeeded, though the brunet just rolls his eyes. “I think we’re far past a casual thing,” he remarks, “now that I’ve met both of your shitty parents.”

Billy’s smile falters slightly, but he refuses to let it go. He huffs a bit. “It was a pleasure both times, I’m sure.”

Steve grins and sits down by Billy’s legs, which are still beneath the duvet. “At least I didn’t get a shiner from your mom.”

“Not yet.”

They laugh. It’s easier than talking about the time Neil came to Billy’s hospital room and Steve started an actual fight with an ex-marine, which ended with him on his feet only because Hopper broke up the brawl. Steve really does have a knack for getting into fights he can’t win. 

Billy sits up on the bed criss-cross-applesauce and takes the plate from Steve. There are four eggos on the plate, all drenched in syrup, and Billy does not see any utensils.

“Steve,” he prompts, “how am I supposed to eat these?”

Steve looks at him quizzically. “With your mouth?”

It takes all of Billy’s strength to keep a straight face. “And… my hands I suppose?”

“Why the fuck would you eat it with your hands?” He looks thoroughly confused and internally, Billy both cackles and coos.

“I’m gonna let you figure that one out.”

There’s a beat of silence as Billy watches the younger boy and this time he can no longer hold back the smile from his face. 

Then, Steve purses his lips. “I forgot to give you a fork.”

“Yup,” Billy gets out before he snorts. 

Steve shakes his head at both Billy and himself, but grins. “Well, as we all know, being a dumbass _is_ my favorite hobby.”

Deciding it’s better to eat the syrupy waffles out of bed anyway, the pair venture to the kitchen table. Steve gets Billy a fork -- and some orange juice because he’s a mother hen -- and joins him with some cereal. He has a probably unhealthy obsession with froot loops. 

They talk about this and that as they have their breakfast, avoiding any serious topics. It’s mostly movies and music, with anecdotes of party hilarity thrown in, and Billy never ceases to be amazed at how easy conversation flows between them. It turns out that when Billy isn’t repressing his sexuality to the point of manic aggression, he and Steve balance each other out beautifully. 

Their shifts both start at noon, so they eat quickly to take care of the dishes after. Hopper always tells Billy that he doesn’t really need to wash them as frequently as he does, but Billy does all he can in the household as he feels he should to earn his stay in it. Steve insists he doesn’t need to prove himself, but helps anyway, as he always does. There’s something adorable about him with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder and Billy smiles.

He has yet to get used to receiving kindness with no condition, but he’s getting better at it. He still feels far from deserving of all the support he gets, of course, but Billy’s learned that arguing is futile, so he lets it happen. The party is thrilled with the small victory.

Because Steve had driven Billy home from the coffeeshop in his Beemer yesterday (“Shut up,” he’d said, “you’re in no state to be driving”), he drops him off in town to get the Camaro.

“Thanks, pretty boy,” Billy says as they pull up at the curb behind the blue car. “I hope you have a fucking blast recommending romantic movies to Mrs. Bernstein.”

At the mention of the spunky middle-aged regular, Steve groans. “Don’t remind me. She’s come at least three times a week for the past month and I’m seriously out of romance recs.”

Billy, (somewhat) jokingly, gives Steve his best flirty eyes. “Guess you’ll just have to watch more.”

“It’s a date”, Steve banters back with a wink and Billy fights the urge to kiss him. He really needs to get himself in check.

He bids Steve goodbye and steps out of the car, leans back into the open window a moment later. “I’ll see you Friday?”

“My house at eight,” Steve confirms. Billy nods and begins to walk off toward his car. He hears Steve whisper-shout “bring the weed!” as the Beemer pulls out, and smiles. Of course he will.

\------

By the time Friday rolls around, Billy is more than ready to get high with his friends and turn off his brain, even if it is just for a few hours.

Ever since the cataclysmic events on Wednesday, Billy had been mulling them over every minute of every day. 

He thought of his mother when he took down the dry laundry, contemplated her words when he made breakfast for Jane, and found himself replaying every detail of the café visit as he changed tires and touched up paint jobs at the auto shop.

Even the family dinner with the Byers’, which had been occuring every Thursday for the past three months, had been uncharacteristically quiet on his part. Hop and Jane know why he’s so distant, of course, and so must Joyce, but she appeared not to have told her sons. Billy spent the evening dodging their concerned and inquisitive looks and trying to laugh along in all the right places, knowing that he’s not fooling anyone.

Billy isn’t heartless, he knows what his mother must be going through, but he has no idea how to even begin to mend their shattered relationship. All he sees when he looks at her is the broken dream of a normal childhood that she had single handedly destroyed. She’s more than that, of course, and he wants to know her, but he doesn’t know how to look past the betrayal that’s haunted him all his life. He’ll try again, he tells himself, but truthfully he really doesn’t want to have to sit through another coffeeshop visit like that again.

He just wants not to think about it.

When he pulls up in front of the Harrington house on Friday evening, Jonathan’s car is already in the driveway next to the Beemer. 

As Billy goes up to the door he can already hear voices and music inside, and thinks he recognizes Nancy singing along to Bonnie Tyler. It makes him smile.

The door swings open barely two seconds after he rang the bell to reveal a grinning Steve, wearing a tacky polo and his most comfortable pair of jeans, looking gorgeous as ever. “Hey,” he greets.

“Hey, loser.”

Steve hugs him close for a moment and then lets him into the house. Jonathan and Nancy can be seen dancing in the living room, though Nancy is admittedly doing more of the dancing while Jonathan gives her a fond smile. Even Billy can’t deny they’re cute. He was mad at them for it for a little while after Steve told him what had happened with Nancy, but after everything it was water under the bridge.

They both greet Billy enthusiastically when they see him, Nancy with a hug and Jonathan with the special Byers sibling handshake that Will and him had let Billy and Jane in on just two weeks ago. It’s simple, really, and definitely ridiculously childish, but it’s fun and it makes him feel a little more at home, so he let’s it happen.

“You want anything to drink?”, Steve questions, already on his way to the kitchen. 

Billy follows him. “Obviously.” 

Steve pulls a beer out of the fridge and opens it, hands it to him. 

“How’ve you been doing?”, Steve asks after a beat.

Billy shrugs, takes a swing of his drink. “Fine.”

Despite his clear frustration with Billy’s barely answer, Steve doesn’t press. He just grabs two more bottles out of the fridge and ventures back into the living room. Billy follows.

A slower song is playing now, one he doesn’t recognize, and Nancy and Jonathan have migrated to the loveseat and are now discussing politics.

“I just cannot fathom how a million Americans are dying and the government is doing _nothing_ ,” Nancy is saying. “They didn’t even give it a name until, like, two months ago.”

“Well,” Steve chimes in as he and Billy sit down on the second sofa, “considering that most of the infected people are gay and they don’t even want to acknowlege there’s that many gay Americans, I think Reagan’s doing a great job.”

Jonathan snorts. “Cheers to Ronald fucking Reagan.” 

Bottles clink, but Billy doesn’t participate.

“Billy!”, Nancy remarks in fake offense, “You’re not going to toast to the President of our great nation?”

It’s his turn to snort now. “Absolutely not.” 

“Yeah, that was probably a bad call on my part,” Jonathan admits with a sheepish grin.

As much as conservatives try to keep it down, everyone is talking about AIDS these days, even in small-town Indiana. A lot of the talk is more than a little offensive, and Billy is incredibly glad his friends are liberal about it. Sure, he has absolutely no guarantee that it would go well if he actually came out, but at least they don’t think gays deserve to die.

Seemingly out of nowhere, there’s a loud clap of thunder and they all startle. They watch in the fascination that always comes with storms as the rain begins pelting onto the large living room windows. It’s nearly as loud as the music.

“Well,” Nancy remarks, “so much for getting high, I guess.”

“Can we smoke inside?”, her boyfriend asks. He sounds skeptical.

Steve just shrugs. “Sure. My parents won’t be home for another two weeks at least and I’ll probably air out before then.”

“Probably?” 

Billy’s question omits a laugh from the couple and grin from Steve, who shakes his head at the blond’s antics.

The doorbell rings again a moment later and Steve goes to answer it. Billy steals a chip from the bowl on Nancy’s lap and she glares at him.

“Hello, is this the Bible study group?”

They all look up to see Robin, looking grunge as ever -- albeit a little wet -- , sporting a sickly sweet and incredibly fake smile.

Billy snorts. “Only if Bible study includes shit-talking the President and smoking weed.”

“Perfect,” Robin says, dropping the smile. Boots still on, she plops herself down on Billy’s left and puts her feet on the table. “What’d Reagan do this time?”

“It’s more like what he _didn’t_ do,” Nancy remarks.

“AIDS,” Billy clarifies.

Steve sits back down beside him.

Robin breathes deep, closing her eyes for a moment. “It makes me _so_ mad,” she finally says. “People literally argue that it’s is a gift by God to get rid of homosexuality. It’s _revolting_. Imagine believing that people deserve to die for this shit.”

Billy counts it as his blessing that he’s not the only gay kid in Hawkins, even though Robin doesn’t officially know about him. He could probably come out to her, he thinks, but he doesn’t have the balls and has a sneaking suspicion that she’s already figured it out anyway, especially with how much she sees him interact with Steve. 

There’s a beat of silence. The rain is still coming down in front of the window like a curtain and the mixtape has now switched to _I Want To Know What Love Is_.

Billy clears his throat. “Robin is right as always; this song is ridiculous, Steve; and I think it’s high time for a joint.”

There’s a chorus of approval around him and Jonathan gets his weed out of his pocket. Billy does the same.

“Can I roll it?”, Robin asks.

“I don’t know,” Billy muses, “Can you?”

She rolls her eyes. “Just give it, dweeb.”

He complies and watches as she fumbles a bit, but gets it eventually. 

“Wow, Buckley,” he teases, “Have you been practicing?”

He gets the finger.

Jonathan is already taking a hit, passing the joint to Nancy a moment later. Robin steals the lighter from him and lights her own. 

They smoke in silence for a few moments. Steve changes the tape to some David Bowie and receives a few cheers of approval. 

“Bowie is the best thing to happen to music since ever, thank you that is all,” Robin announces ceremoniously. 

Jonathan draws out a long, doubtful sound. “He’s on the list, yes, but, like, The Smiths?”

This makes Robin laugh. “Of course you would say The Smiths, you fucking cliché!”

Billy takes another long drag from his joint as he watches all the others bicker. Steve, in all of his lovable dumbass glory, is arguing in favor of fucking Tears for Fears. Billy holds back a laugh.

“Stop hogging the weed, you bogart,” Robin says to Billy a moment later. He hasn’t passed the joint in too long, apparently.

Billy rolls his eyes, but compiles and gives it to her, even though it’s basically done. She makes another one. He can already feel the high seeping into his system as he scoots closer to his right and drapes his leg over Steve’s. It’s been clear since the first time he got high with the lot that Billy is a tactile stoner, so no one says anything, but he can see Robin’s smirk. He ignores it.

“Hey,” Steve tells him, “take it easy on the weed, yeah. I know shit sucks but it really doesn’t help in the long run.”

Billy snorts. “That’s rich coming from you, pretty boy.”

They all chuckle at this and Steve raises his hands as if to admit defeat. When he drops them, one lands warm and solid on Billy’s thigh and Billy sighs, shifts closer. He’ll blame it on the weed if asked.

As always when she is high, Nancy goes into full investigative journalist/worried parent mode. “What’s up with you Billy? Jonathan said you were distant on Thursday too. Is it upside down stuff, or...?”

Billy halfheartedly glares at Jonathan, who has the audacity to look sheepish.

“Nothing,” he tries.

To his demise, Steve’s high has apparently kicked in and thus he has no filter. “His mom’s in Hawkins trying to patch shit up, we met her Tuesday.”

Billy groans. “Shut up.”

Robin’s smirk widens. “We?”

“Ya,” Steve says matter-of-factly, apparently ignoring Billy’s protests. “I wasn’t gonna let Billy do it alone.”

Jonathan seems to catch up with the conversation. “Wait, Billy’s mom. As in Billy’s _mom_ mom.”

“No,” Billy says sarcastically, “My fairy godmother. _Yes_ , my mom mom.”

The group is silent for a moment and listens to Bowie sing of a man in space. Billy hopes they’ll drop the topic, but knows it’s futile. Apart from Steve, they haven’t even heard him mention her, so they’ll no doubt have questions. They probably assumed she was dead.

Robin speaks first. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“When I was ten.”

Billy feels Steve’s hand briefly tighten its hold on his leg, and then his thumb traces steady circles onto Billy’s thigh. It keeps from spinning out of control.

“Why’d you stop seeing her?”, Nancy asks.

Billy huffs a short, sad laugh. “Cause she fucking left.”

“She left you with _Neil_ ?”, Jonathan exclaims incredulously.

Billy stays silent and looks down at his lap, but he sees Steve nod slightly.

After a short pause, Nancy asks “Do you want to start seeing her again?”

“That’s the damn question, isn’t it, and I have no fucking idea.”

At that, Billy gets up from the sofa and mumbles something about having to take a piss. The others don’t try to stop him.

Back in the bathroom -- which has fucking heated flooring because _jeez, the Harringtons are loaded_ \-- Billy splashes his face with water.

He takes a leak while he’s there and takes his sweet time washing his hands while he stares himself down in the mirror. There’s a fucking pimple on his forehead.

The weed has calmed him some, he doesn’t feel like he needs to punch anything, but he still feels upset, frustrated, and sad. Because of Steve’s stupid mouth, all of his friends, at least all those that aren’t fucking freshmen, know about his mom. They weren’t supposed to. Billy was trying to cut himself off his shitty past, but it just won’t leave him alone. Now that they know, he wonders what they think of him. After all, if even his mom couldn’t stick around for him, why should they?

He sits down on the floor and pulls his knees up against his chest. He tries to remember the breathing exercises his therapist had taught him post-last summer.

_In through your mouth, out through your nose. Relax your jaw and shoulders,_

He does that for what his high mind thinks feels like forever, then there’s a soft knock on the door.

“Billy? Are you okay?”

It’s Steve, because of course it is.

Billy takes one last deep breath. “Yeah, I’ll just be a sec.”

A moment later he gets up slowly and unlocks the door. Steve hasn’t moved from in front of it. High as a kite and insufferably into Steve, Billy locks his arms around the taller boy’s neck and pulls him close. Strong arms wrap around his middle without hesitation.

“Thought you might be mad at me,” Steve confesses into Billy’s shoulder. 

Billy shakes his head. “Not your fault you can’t shut up when you’re high.”

He feels Steve smile. “I’m still sorry.”

“I know.”

They break apart a moment later. Seemingly satisfied with Billy’s state, Steve leads them back into the living room. 

Robin is now sprawled out on the floor with Nancy, and, as always, the two have begun discussing conspiracy theories way beyond anyone else’s interest. Jonathan snaps a photo of them.

“Billy, baby, there you are!”, Robin grins. “Thought you might’ve gone all Narcissus on us and never come back.”

He laughs. “I was considering it, but then I wondered who else was gonna babysit you and Stevie.”

Steve nudges him playfully, but doesn’t complain when Billy practically drags him onto the couch and sits down nearly on top of him. 

Nancy tugs Robin up from the floor to dance as _We Built This City_ comes on and the boys laugh as they shout the lyrics and stumble along to the beat.

Nobody brings Billy’s mom up for the rest of the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey babygirls!
> 
> with school out, graduation up in the air, and the high probability of a lowkey sad 18th birthday i'm trying my best to stay motivated for you guys. being productive in both academic and personal endeavours has always been really difficult to me when i'm at home, but i'm trying my best.
> 
> as depressing as it can be to sit at home for long periods of time as life turns into a dystopian/apocalyptic novel, stay. home. ! if you need to see your friends so you don't go insane, ride your bike or have a parent drive you and keep the groups small and in private spaces. no one will be harmed if you have your mom drive you to a friends house to have a taylor swift dance party (see: me tomorrow), but avoid public spaces and for fucks sake: WASH YOUR HANDS REGULARLY.
> 
> most importantly: stay safe, stay sane, stay smiling. take this as an opportunity to spend some quality time with family and count your blessings!


	5. The Cookout (Donna)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took me so long to update! i got a little carried away with this chapter, so at least it's longer than usual.
> 
> thank you guys so much for your comments and kudos on my previous chapters, i really do appreciate it. 
> 
> enjoy! :)

“So if you don’t hear anything, you’ll leave Wednesday?”

It’s Saturday afternoon and Donna’s on the phone with Phil, biding her time in the room for most of the day because the rain is still coming down in buckets outside, as it has been since last night. 

She hasn’t spoken to her husband as much as she should have, she thinks, only having called him once before this, but he’s sweet and understanding as ever. It’s wonderful to hear his voice.

“Yeah,” she replies after a beat. “I feel like I owe him that much.”

“I understand. He might come around, you know. The whole thing is probably really overwhelming for him, but you’re doing what you can and I have full faith in your abilities.” She can hear him smiling through the receiver and it makes her feel like she’s doing something right.

Donna sighs. “Thanks, honey. I realize I’ve been going on about me for, like, twenty minutes, so how are you guys doing? Did Lucy win the swimming thing?”

“She did!”, Phil laughs. “It was a close call, but she did win.”

“Give her my congratulations.”

“Will do.” He takes a deep breath. “Otherwise, not much has changed here. Your endeavours are far more exciting, I’m sure.”

This makes Donna chuckle. “Yeah, right. Hawkins is super exciting, especially you’re on your own.”

“Of course it is. But hey, you’re not on your own! Luce gave you Mr. Bear, didn’t she?”

Donna glances over at the bed, finding a pair of beady eyes looking back at her. Somehow, the blue teddy bear looks as though it knows they’re talking about him. “She did indeed.”

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door, and Donna frowns. Who on earth could that be? As far as she knew, the cleaning service had come by that morning.

“Hey, I gotta go,” she tells Phil. “There’s someone at my door.”

“‘Kay,” he replies. “Just try your best with Billy and come back soon, yeah? It has been made clear that my pancakes are nowhere near rival yours.”

She grins at that. “Will do. Love you!”

She hears him say it back as she hangs up.

Curiously, she wanders across the faded carpet to the door, making sure she’s decent before opening it. She honestly didn’t know who she was expecting in front of her motel room on a Saturday afternoon, but it wasn’t this.

Steve stands in front of her, fist raised mid-knock. The grungy girl from the ice cream parlor is with him, and they’re both a little wet.

They all stand in silence for a moment, staring, until Donna hastily gestures for them to come in. There’s no point to them getting soaked in the rain.

Once they’re inside, Steve opens his mouth. “I realize that this is a bit sudden and probably a bit weird. I- I don’t know if you remember, I’m-”

“Steve,” Donna finishes. “Billy’s friend.”

The brunet lets out a breath. “Yeah.”

“I’m Robin,” the girl beside him introduces herself. “The other sidekick, I guess.”

“Donna.” They shake hands and laugh somewhat awkwardly, but it manages to slightly ease the tension. Robin, with her dark clothing and eyeliner, seems like a girl that doesn’t really care what anyone thinks of her. It’s a quality Donna admires.

“So, uh,” she starts, “to what do I owe this visit?”

Steve opens his mouth, but doesn’t say anything until Robin elbows him. “Right, well we, mostly I, wanted to invite you to this cookout thing happening tomorrow. If you want, that is.” He hastily adds the last part.

Donna startles. “A cookout thing?”

“Yeah,” Steve continues. “Once a month everyone kind of gets together and eats food and hangs out and I thought it might be a good opportunity for you to, sort of, ease into the group or whatever.” 

If Donna wasn’t surprised before, she definitely is now. “You want me to ease into the group?”

Steve looks somewhat sheepish and shrugs, but speaks up anyway. “Well, I really just want what’s best for Billy and I think it would be good for him to, like, have a mom. And I know he’s not been particularly warm and welcoming, but I think it would help to sort of water down the experience and have you meet in a group setting that he’s more comfortable with.”

“So, Billy doesn’t know you’re inviting me?”

“Well-”, Steve starts, but Robin interrupts him.

“No, he doesn’t.”

Donna lets out a long breath. “I want to see him, really, but I also don’t want to push him away by weaseling my way into his life where he doesn’t want me.”

“I totally get that,” Steve tells her quickly, “but Billy isn’t ever going to come out and say he’s ready unless he gets a little push. I don’t think a one-on-one meeting would go well, but I actually think having you at the Byers’ tomorrow could work. I already talked to Joyce and she said she’d be glad to have you.”

Apparently catching on to Donna’s somewhat skeptical look, Robin jumps in. “We’re not saying it gonna go swimmingly, but it’s either this or a never ending stalemate.”

“Okay, well, what is this group?”, Donna finds herself asking after a beat.

Steve and Robin both grin, clearly taking the question as a sign of her compliance. 

“Um-”, Steve thinks for a moment, then begins counting on his fingers. “Hopper, his girlfriend Joyce, his daughter, Billy, Joyce’s sons, one of which is-” Robin cuts him off.

“Forget his awkward elaborate descriptions,” she says, “It’s basically a few adults, a handful of graduates, and a bunch of loud-but-lovable freshmen.”

Donna chuckles. “Sounds like quite the party.”

“It is,” Steve confirms.

There’s a pregnant pause. The air conditioning starts whirring loudly for no reason and there’s a roll of thunder outside.

“So, you’ll be there?”, Robin asks.

Running scenarios through her head, Donna thinks for a moment. “Fuck it,” she says finally, “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

Steve and Robin grin at her and then high five. 

“You’ll both be there too, I assume?”, she asks.

They both nod.

“Right,” Donna takes a deep breath. “So then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Four pm at this address,” Robin tells her, handing over a slip of paper. “It was nice meeting you, Donna.”

Donna smiles at her. “Likewise.”

She turns to say goodbye to Steve, but he lingers, motioning for his companion to go ahead. Robin complies. It makes Donna nervous.

“Is there something else, or…?”, she trails off.

Steve just looks at her for a moment. “I’m giving you a second chance with Billy, not for you but for him. So if shit goes sideways I’m not cutting you any more slack or excusing any behavior, because this whole thing is his call.”

While Donna is really in no position to be joking with Steve, she can’t help the smirk on her face. “Isn’t this whole thing” --she gestures around them-- “really _not_ his call, though?”

Steve scoffs, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his face. “Jesus fucking Chirst, now I see where he gets it from.”

“Sorry.” She’s not sure she means it.

He composes himself. “The point is, I’m on Billy’s side. Always. And if you hurt him and I’m no longer helping you. Got it?”

Donna nods. “Got it.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Steve turns and walks back out into the rain. She watches from the doorway as he trots to his car, gets in, and drives off a moment later. 

He’s a godsend, Donna thinks.

  
  


\------

  
  


By Sunday, her anxiety has accumulated to a point where she can hardly bear it.

She’d spent about an hour getting ready, and then another one to make it look like she hadn’t done just that. It’s just a cookout, she knows that, so she hadn’t wanted to look fancy, but she really didn’t want to look like a slob either. After much senseless worry, Donna had settled for some light wash jeans and a plaid blouse with puffy sleeves. Her hair was up in a ponytail, though a few stubborn curls escaped the hair tie as always.

As the Allegro rolls down a dirt road through the woods, Donna, doubting briefly whether she’s going the right way, finds herself wondering not for the first time what this group will be like and, perhaps more importantly, what they will think of her. 

The host, Joyce Byers, knows that she is coming, as do Robin and Steve, but her attendance will probably be a surprise to most of the people at the cookout, including Billy. She hopes that the lot are, if not welcoming, accepting of her being there. She hopes Billy will give her another chance.

Just as Donna is really beginning to doubt if she took the correct turn, a house appears in front of her. It’s small and old looking, but seems to be bursting with life nonetheless. There’s numerous cars parked on the front lawn and a long table, which actually looks to be made up of three tables, is set up next to the porch. A pair of young teens are chasing each other around it and Donna can see more people moving about in the yard and around the house. 

She parks her car behind a silver Ford and takes a deep breath, already feeling a number of eyes on her. Slowly, she gets out of the car, careful not to slip on the still muddy ground. It had stopped raining last evening.

When Donna looks up, she counts seven wide pairs of eyes on her. Four look confused, two look dumbfound, and one looks half-worried and half-kind. She swallows.

“You must be Donna.” The owner of the last mentioned pair of eyes, big and expressive, is walking up to her now. It’s a short woman, close to Donna’s age with brown hair and dark blue dress. The first word that comes to Donna’s mind is “motherly”.

At first, Donna can do little more than nod, but she shakes herself out of it. “Yes, of course, sorry. You must be Mrs. Byers.”

“Joyce, please.” They shake hands and the smile Joyce gives her immediately calms her a bit. It’s not fully open, but it exudes understanding and a little bit of hope, which is far better than what Donna had expected.

“Thank you so much for having me,” she starts again. “I understand this is a really unpleasant position to put you in and I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.”

Joyce waves it off. “I was already hosting a bunch of dramatic teenagers, so it's really not any extra work. And I do want to help you find some common with your son. Being a mom is hard enough when you know your children.”

The fact that Joyce is already joking with her as though they’re old friends makes the whole afternoon seem less daunting.

Donna is about to respond when a car pulls up behind her. She can spot Steve, Robin, and a kid with curly hair that she doesn’t immediately recognize through the open windows.

“Dude, what are you on about?”, the kid is saying as they get out of the car. “Lord of the Flies is not” --he spots Donna and the end of his sentence comes out sounding more like an afterthought-- “about insects.”

Robin breaks the short silence with a “you came” and a smile, and Donna smiles back.

“Who’re you?”

The question comes from the tall black kid, who was chasing the redhead around the table moments earlier. Now, he’s staring at Donna with an agitated frown and she suddenly recognizes the lot as the ones that gave her directions on that first Saturday here.

“Donna,” she calls back, trying her hardest to sound confident. “I’m Billy’s mother.”

“You’re what?”, a boy from the porch exclaims. He’s even taller than his friend and has a head of messy dark curls.

“I’m-”, Donna starts, but is interrupted.

The girl with the long, bright red hair, who was standing a few feet behind the black boy steps forward. Her look is menacing. “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

Donna opens her mouth to speak again, albeit she isn’t quite sure where to start, but Steve beats her to it.

“Calm down, Max, I invited her,” he explains. “She’s been here a week, Billy already met her.”

The girl, Max, apparently, looks dubious. “And that went well?”

There’s a beat of silence, which seems to give Max her answer. 

“Are you kidding me right now, Steve? This cannot be a good idea.”

Steve starts to explain himself and walks over to her. They argue, but Donna can no longer make out what they’re saying.

She feels a hand on her arm. Joyce is asking to come inside and help with the lemonade and Donna complies.

Two young adults about Billy’s age, a broody-looking boy and a curly haired girl, pass them on the porch steps, and she can feel their wary eyes on her.

“Sorry about Max,” Joyce tells her as they enter the kitchen. It’s small, no more than the corner of a room, really. There’s a bunch of drawings and photographs on the fridge and Donna thinks she can make out Joyce and two boys, both taller than her. “She was Billy’s stepsister, so she knows the whole story and is really protective of him. It might take some time for her to warm up to you.”

Donna looks up at this. “She’s Neil’s new wife’s daughter.”

“Yeah,” Joyce confirms. “Susan, if I remember correctly. Max still has her maiden name.”

“Is she still living with them?”, Donna finds herself asking. She doesn’t think that Neil would dare hurt a child that isn’t his, but she really can’t be sure.

“She is,” Joyce says, but then, seemingly sensing Donna’s worry, adds “But he’s not hurting her. We keep regular tabs.”

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Good.”

Joyce shows her where the plastic cups are and Donna helps her balance as much as she can on a tray to bring outside. The food ranges from fresh strawberries to lasagna to sesame pretzel sticks, and her mouth waters. She makes a point not to eat anything yet, she doesn’t want to be rude, but she hasn’t eaten since the morning and is starving.

Donna is more than grateful for the way Joyce chats away as they work and begins to think that this whole cookout thing might not go up in flames as spectacularly as the first meeting did. At least she has one ally now, two if you count Steve, but she is also well aware that they’re both ultimately on Billy’s side, as they should be.

They’re close to done when the boy from the porch steps comes into the kitchen. He pauses in the doorway when he sees Donna, stares.

“Oh, honey,” Joyce says she notices him, “Could you try and get the grill started? Hop seems to be running a little late and I really don’t know if I can handle another hangry Dustin situation.”

Finally tearing his eyes from Donna, he looks over at his probable mother and steals a strawberry from the bowl, dodging Joyce’s hand that’s slapping his away. “On it.”

He gives Donna another curious glance as he leaves.

“That was Jonathan, my eldest,” Joyce clarifies when he’s gone.

Donna thinks she already knows the answer, but asks, “How many do you have?” 

“Two. Jonathan is eighteen and Will is fourteen. They’re both old enough to mostly handle themselves now, but they certainly still keep me busy.”

Donna chuckles. “I can imagine.”

“Did you ever have any other children?”, Joyce asks then. “After Billy, I mean.”

She shakes her head. “No, not personally, but I have a stepdaughter back in San Francisco. Lucy, she’s twelve.”

Joyce smiles. “So you remarried?”

“Yeah, but only three years ago. I wasn’t really that excited to get back into married life after Neil.” Donna doesn’t know why she’s telling Joyce this, but it feels good nonetheless. Something about the woman just exudes trust and familiarity.

Judging by her warm expression, she also seems to understand. “Tell me about it. My ex-husband is an emotionally stunted drunkard, and my last boyfriend died suddenly.” A pained look passes her eyes at the last comment, but it’s gone in a second.

Donna doesn't really know what to say to that.

“God, sorry.” She seems to shake herself out of it. “You did not ask for my tragic backstory.”

“Oh no, it’s totally fine,” Donna assures her. “I’m dramatically crashing your house party, the least I can do is listen to you for a few minutes. Besides, it’s good to see I’m not the only one with a little bit of a mess behind me.”

At that, Joyce laughs. “Good luck finding anyone at this cookout who doesn’t. But healing’s the important part right? I’m back in a functional relationship, you’re here to clean up your mess, and at the end of the day that’s all we can do.”

Donna grins and finds herself with an overwhelming affection for the short woman with the big, warm eyes. “Right.”

The moment is interrupted when another probably freshman --Donna briefly wonders how many there are, by now she’s counted six-- pops her head through the open door way. She has curly brown hair that just passes her shoulders and is wearing a floral romper. 

“We’re here!”, she chides, and Joyce immediately goes to hug her.

“Hey, sweetheart, how was the history quiz?”, Joyce asks when she pulls back.

The girl grins. “Not as bad as I thought!”

Joyce grins back. “Great!” Then seemingly remembering that Donna is still by the counter, she turns and gestures to her. “Donna, this is El, Hop’s daughter. El, this is Donna, Billy’s mom.”

Donna freezes in anticipation of Billy’s other quasi-little sister’s reaction, bracing herself for anger, distrust, or a threat. Maybe even all three.

Instead, the girl steps forward slowly, her face illegible. When she reaches Donna, she puts her hand on her arm and says, with more sincerity that Donna believed a fourteen year old capable of, “Thank you for coming back for him.”

Donna thinks she might cry.

Seemingly sensing this, the girl just smiles at her and then walks back out of the kitchen. 

The voices outside have grown louder.

“Billy’s here too now. Come out whenever you’re ready,” Joyce tells Donna as she grabs a tray and turns to follow El. “Bring the rolls out when you do.”

Donna watches her leave, takes a deep breath. She’s going to do it right this time, she tells herself. She’s going to introduce herself to everyone, try her best to remember all their names, and be nothing but friendly, helpful, and respectful all evening. By the end of it, Billy’s friends won’t hate her and Billy will let her talk to him. That’s all Donna can really hope for, anyhow.

With this as her mantra, she takes the basket of rolls from the counter, heads out of the kitchen, checks her appearance in the hall mirror, and steps out onto the porch. 

Immediately, she feels a new tension in the air and a lot of eyes on her. Billy, clad in a white Led Zeppelin t-shirt and some jeans, is laughing about something with Robin and doesn’t notice her immediately, but when he follows the gazes of most everyone around him to find his mother on the porch, he freezes.

There’s a prolonged, anticipating silence. A cuckoo is calling somewhere in the woods behind the house and the football that some of the freshmen were tossing around a moment ago lands on the damp grass between them with a thump.

When Billy finally speaks, his voice is measured and his face is indecipherable. “What are you doing here?”

Donna counts it as a win that he addresses her directly. 

“I was invited,” she answers plainly. She doesn’t want to throw Steve under the bus unless he has to.

“By who?”, he asks, but before she can even respond he seems to know the answer and turns to Steve. 

The two seem to have an entire conversation with just their eyes, and everyone else just watches. Judging by their faces, it isn’t a new phenomenon.

Eventually, Billy takes a deep breath and faces Donna again. He takes a few steps toward her, never taking his eyes from her face, and stops in front of the porch steps.

“Do you promise not to mention the time I dyed my hair?”, he asks quietly, so that only she can hear it.

Donna, trying her damndest not to visibly tear up, gives him an affirmative nod.

Billy seems to process this and then walks back toward his friends. “She can stay,” he announces with a nonchalant wave of his hand, and Donna lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. 

Joyce smiles at her from where she is at the grill, Hop gives her a cordial nod from beside the short woman, and the kids’ reactions vary from grins to looks that say “oh boy”. Donna feels like she could fly.

Feigning equanimity, she carries the rolls to the long table and sets them down on a free spot. The surface is laden with dishes, and Donna briefly wonders if the table will be able to hold all the weight, or if the food will collapse onto their laps sometime later that evening. It makes for an amusing image.

She turns, intending to properly greet Hopper, but finds herself staring into the freckled face of the red haired girl, Max. Either Donna was that preoccupied with thinking about food on people’s laps or the girl was just that stealthy, it might’ve been both.

“Look,” Max starts, “If Billy is okay with you being here, then I guess I should apologize for, like, being rude earlier. I’m Max, Billy’s…”, she trails off.

“Sort of sister?”, Donna tries.

Max nods and holds out her hand to shake. “Yeah, sort of sister.”

Donna takes it. “You were being totally rational earlier by the way,” she adds then. “I don’t really have any right to be here, and it’s wonderful seeing so many people that care about Billy.”

“Even if it means everyone immediately hates you?”, Max asks with a teasing smile.

Donna laughs. “Well, I guess it’s a price I gotta pay.”

“Just don’t give me or anyone else here any reasons to keep hating you and then we’re good,” she says, adding “not _good_ good, but good.”

Donna smiles. “Got it.”

The boy with the curls, the one that had arrived with Steve and Robin, calls Max’s name now, and she gives Donna a quick smile and runs off to him and the rest of the group. Donna counts six freshmen all together.

She walks over to the grill where Joyce and Hopper are at work. The steaks look close to done.

“Donna,” Hop greets, “Can’t say I wasn’t surprised when I heard Steve invited you, but we’re glad to have you here.”

He looks marginally less intimidating in his casual clothes, though he still emanates the same rugged power he did when Donna met him more than a week ago, even in a flannel. 

“Imagine my surprise when two teenagers knocked on my door yesterday afternoon,” she replies. “Steve saw how quickly last Tuesday went sideways and still invited me here.”

“He’s always been very persistent,” Joyce smiles, then asks “Have you been introduced to everyone?”

Donna shakes her head.

Joyce begins pointing out individuals across the yard and Donna tries her best to remember all the names. She’s not usually bad at them, but being introduced to a lot of people at once can be challenging.

When the first round of steaks, sausages, and shish kebabs is done around five-thirty, Joyce calls everyone to the table. The sun has started to set, but there’s still more than enough light to comfortably eat. Those in short sleeves have put on jackets or sweatshirts.

Donna sits down next to Joyce, and as everyone rushes to take a seat, though there doesn’t seem to be a rule for who sits where, she can see the pattern of friendships and siblings emerge. The older teens are all on the side across from her, with Steve at the end of the table Hopper occupies and Will breaking the pattern as the only younger kid at the opposite end, next to Jonathan. El sits to Donna’s left, followed by her probable boyfriend --judging by their conjoined hands-- Mike, Dustin, and Lucas. Max sits across from Hopper at the other head of the long assortment of tables. Billy is seated between Steve and Robin, right across from Donna, and he gives her a small smile.

There’s loud conversation as everyone helps themselves to food, and the warmth emanating from the laughing, bantering, chattering group makes Donna feel warm. She’s been around these people for not even two hours and she’s already come to feel an immense affection for the bunch, and is so happy Billy has this.

As the meal goes on, she tunes in and out of conversations and chats with Joyce or the occasional teen, but mostly stays quiet. She’s always loved people watching, and observing the interactions between everyone at this table is beyond entertaining, not to mention interesting. She picks up on so much about this offbeat assortment of people that she itches for her journal so that she can capture these vivid personalities.

Joyce’s youngest, Will, is the probably quietest of the bunch, but he exudes kindness and warmth, seeming to, like Donna, observe more than contribute. Jonathan and his girlfriend Nancy are pursuing journalism, him as a photographer, and her as an investigative writer. Donna feels for Nancy’s frustration at the sexist job market and imagines it’s even harsher in Hawkins than in San Francisco. She learns that while El and her boyfriend Mike are the kind of sweet relationship that’s adorable to watch, Max and Lucas’ bantering romance is no less fetching. Donna almost speaks up to ask Billy about why he calls El Jane when he asks her for the ketchup, but figures that if they’re to talk, he should initiate. She makes a note to ask him about it later, if she can. 

Unsurprisingly, she watches him most, and is enchanted by what she finds. Despite the negligible tension in Billy’s shoulders (probably due to her presence), he looks at ease as he laughs with his friends, so many of which must be like family to him. He looks impossibly cozy in his gray _Hawkins High Tigers_ sweatshirt and his affection for the group is poorly disguised under the plethora of snarky comments he delivers with a teasing lilt. He still uses too much ketchup, chews on his hoodie strings, and inadvertently puts his left hand to his chest when he laughs. It’s enough to make Donna feel like she still knows him, even just a little bit.

She also confirms that she was right in her assumption all those years ago, when she had caught Billy in her makeup drawer; He likes boys. The way he hogs Steve’s attention, steals his food, laughs at all of his jokes, and brushes his arm just a bit more than necessary is all evident of his infatuation with the brunette. He’s trying to disguise it, of course, but his camouflage is clumsy at best. It’s amusing, really.

Steve is no better. He’s giving Donna a run for her money with how much he watches Billy, and Donna doesn't think he’s stopped blushing for the entirety of the meal. They make a gorgeous pair.

The world will throw more than a few bricks at them, no doubt, but she really hopes it doesn’t stop them. She’s from San Francisco, California and it’s 1986 and she really doesn’t think that Billy and Steve deserve insolence for benevolent affection.

It’s nearly dark by the time the last of them, Robin and Dustin, declare they’re done with their food. Both of them had been talking more than eating and finished long after the others and judging by the familiar teasing of the others, it's not a new phenomenon. 

Everyone helps clear the table and Donna ends up carrying a bunch of chair cushions into the shed with Nancy.

“What do you do? Professionally, I mean”, Nancy asks as she takes another stack of cushions from her. She’s putting them up on the correct shelves after Donna straightens them. 

“I don’t know if professional is the word,” Donna replies. “I work at the local library in Bernal Heights. It’s mostly just taking inventory and such.”

“That’s cool, though,” Nancy comments. She has to stretch onto her tippy-toes to reach the top shelf.

Donna tries to keep the small semblance of a conversation alive. “You’re a journalist, right?”

“Trying to be. The Hawkins Post kind of sucks, but Jonathan and I are applying to some schools in New York and hope to get out of here in fall.”

“I could see you in New York,” Donna encourages, then remembers Billy is Nancy’s age. “Do you know if Billy has any college plans?”

She shrugs again. “I know he’s applying, but I’m really not sure where. I think he’s still deciding if and where he wants to go.”

Donna wants to ask Billy himself about it, but doesn’t even really get a chance until it’s nearly 8 pm.

It’s cooled down considerably from the pleasant 70° it was earlier, and the whole group is gathered around a fire that had taken four people, twenty minutes, and a lot of bickering to build. Now, they’re all much calmer as their fatigue settles in. There’s still loud spouts of laughter and the occasional shove, but the general mood is one of serenity as the couples are in various cuddling positions and El and Dustin are asleep.

Donna listens to the soothing sounds of the crickets, the cracking logs of the fire, and Robin’s dramatic retelling of the way she broke her arm (basically, she didn’t make it over the vault in gym class), and finds herself somewhat peaceful for the first time since she left California. She’s mostly been anxious and heavy with guilt, but it’s hard to feel distressed when the stars are out and there’s a thick wool blanket around her shoulders.

After Robin finishes her story and the conversation veers toward the school science fair in May, Donna sees Billy get up from where he was sharing a blanket with Steve and walk toward her. He sits down on the ground to her right a moment later.

She feigns nonchalance, but gives him the warmest smile she can muster. He gives a small smile back and Donna wants nothing more than to hug him close and never let go, but refrains.

They sit in companionable silence for a few moments and Donna knows she needs to let him speak first. Just when she thinks she may have been wrong, Billy opens his mouth.

“I’m sorry for storming out on Wednesday.” His words are slow and measured and he’s looking down at his lap. “I just didn’t really know how I was supposed to feel and I didn’t know how to, like, talk to you.”

“Billy,” Donna coaxes, making him look up at her. Her breath hitches when she meets his eyes, they’re just like hers, just like they were all those years ago. She can feel her voice choke up as she continues. “You have nothing to apologize for, okay? _Nothing_ . I’m the one that needs to be apologizing. I am so, _so_ sorry for leaving you all alone with that asshole back in ‘77, and for every day that I didn’t find you since. I was- I was scared of Neil, and myself, and that you would hate me, and it’s all my fault, not yours.”

Billy nods, and Donna can see tears gathering in his eyes. Tentatively, slow enough that he could stop her if he needed to, she grabs his hand from where it is on his lap and just holds it, squeezes once for good measure.

He lets her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW.
> 
> this chapter was long and all over the place, but i hope it still did the job.
> 
> i wasn't really originally planning on it, but i found myself really embracing the interaction between donna and joyce. i felt like there was potential there so i tried to tap into it.
> 
> also, i wasn't planning on donna being sure about steve and billy at the cookout, but considering her introspective nature, connection to billy, and the fact that these idiots are a bit obvious, it felt right to add it.
> 
> i'd love to hear your thoughts!


	6. Mulligan (Billy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry it took me a whole extra week to update. i had a college application and interview and then i downloaded a vpn and discovered the office, so it's really micheal shur's fault.
> 
> (i know that's no excuse and i really am sorry. i do intent to update more regularly.)
> 
> enjoy :)

_ mulligan _

_ /ˈmʌlɪɡ(ə)n/ _

_ (in informal golf) an extra stroke allowed after a poor shot _

\------

Because Billy is nothing if not stubborn, he doesn’t call his mother until Tuesday.

He’d forgiven her Sunday, sort of -- enough to at least try and get to know her--, but he had waited nine damn years for her to call so she might as well have to wait two days for him to. It’s only fair.

When he gets back from the gym on Tuesday afternoon, no one is home yet, but a glance at the clock tells him Jane is just out of school and should be back at the house in twenty minutes. This gives him enough time to shower and gather his thoughts, and then actually do it. He’s nervous, obviously, but he knows if he puts it off any longer he’ll never get around to it.

Getting in the shower, Billy forges his plan. He’ll ask to meet for breakfast tomorrow at the diner. His shift at the garage starts at noon, so the meeting won’t be open ended and there shouldn’t be any awkwardness of when to go. He’s sure it’ll be awkward nonetheless, but he’s trying his best to plan ahead and combat what he can.

Dry and dressed, Billy has barely ten minutes to make the call before Jane gets home. He takes a deep breath and reaches for the phone in the living room. Hopper had already laid her number out, as if knowing that Billy was going to want to call.

It only rings twice.

“Donna Richardson,” she answers, and her voice makes Billy anxious all over again.

He clears his throat. “Uh, hi. It’s Billy.”

“Billy,” she audibly grins. “I’m so happy to hear from you.”

Billy allows himself a small smile. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to, I guess, have breakfast tomorrow? Like, with me,” he asks. He can’t remember the last time he was this nervous.

“I’d love that, yeah.”

Billy grins then and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Right, cool, um.” He scrambles to get his brain back online. “Could you do Rudy’s Diner at ten? I have a shift at noon, but we can chat for an hour or two.”

“Sounds perfect.” Her voice is so warm and affectionate that Billy struggles not to reject it. His therapist tells him he needs to stop doing that, but it’s a work in progress.

There’s a beat of silence in which he’s sure neither of them know what to say.

“Cool,” Billy says then, again. “So, um, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Ten am, Rudy’s Diner,” Donna confirms.

“Right.”

“Right,” she repeats. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” He hangs up.

Despite the discomfort of the call, Billy feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. His leg is bouncing and he takes a few deep breaths to calm himself, but his smile won’t leave his face. He picks up the receiver again. 

This time, there’s six dial tones.

“Harrington.” the voice sounds slightly out of breath.

Billy’s grin widens. “Sorry, pretty boy. Was I interrupting your pilates?”

“Fuck off,” Steve responds, but Billy can hear him smiling now. “I’m helping Dustin with his aim, he’s trying out for the basketball team next week.”

“Is he any good?”

Steve snorts. “None at all, but that’s our secret.”

Billy readjusts the receiver. His arms are tired out from the barbells and really don’t seem to wanna hold the phone up. “My lips are sealed.”

“Excellent,” Steve grins. “So, uh, why’d you call?”

Billy pauses for a moment, and Steve takes this as an invitation to ramble in that stupid, endeering way that always makes Billy grin.

“Not that you need a reason to call or anything, really, it just sort of seemed like you were gonna say something, but if you just wanna chat that’s cool too. I should be done with Dustin in a few minutes so-”

“Jesus, Steve,” he interrupts. “Stop running your mouth, I did call for a reason.”

“Sorry,” --Billy almost tells him there’s no need to apologize, but Steve goes on-- “What’s up?”

“I think,” Billy draws out, “I’m having breakfast with my mom tomorrow.”

“Holy shit,” Steve breathes. “B, that’s amazing.”

“Yeah, don’t cream your pants,” he lilts just as Jane walks in. She gives him a wave and a smile, and goes into the kitchen to unpack her lunch,

“Hey! That’s my line,” Steve is saying, “Besides, I’m allowed to be excited. I know you’re nervous but this could be so good for both of you.”

“You really think so?”, Billy asks. He’s willing to give his mother a chance, but that doesn’t mean he’s confident in a positive outcome.

“I do. Firmly. She’s stuck around in Hawkins, fucking, Indiana for this long, she must be dedicated, right? She loves you, Billy, now all you gotta do is let yourself see it.”

“Thanks, Stevie.” Billy’s smile softens. 

There’s a call on Steve’s end of the line that he knows must be Dustin.

“I won’t keep you,” Billy says. “You can get back to your ward.”

“He’s not my-”, Steve starts, but recognizes there’s no point. “This little shit can wait if you wanna talk about it any more, really.”

Billy’s face hurts from smiling. “I’ll be fine. Dustin probably needs your help more than I do.”

“Probably,” Steve laughs. “We’re still on after work tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Jane wanders back into the living room with a joghurt and sits down on the couch, her brown eyes watching him inquisitively. He smiles at her.

Steve says, “Cool. And, uh, have fun at breakfast with you mom tomorrow and try to just focus on the now and here. It’s far more important than all the shit behind you.”

“You’re the best,” Billy responds before he can stop himself. He adds, “Make sure to tell Dustin to plant his damn feet,” to divert attention away from his sappiness.

Steve just laughs that warm wonderful sound that Billy feels all the way to his toes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Bye, Steve.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Billy hangs up.

He looks up at Jane, who is still watching him -- she never did seem to get the hang of not staring --, and asks her how her day at school was.

She shrugs. “Normal.”

“Very informative.”

This makes her smile. As he turns to go to his room, she calls out to him. “Billy.” He turns. “What does cream your pants mean?”

It takes a tremendous effort for Billy not to burst out laughing as he responds, as nonchalantly as he can, “It, uh-” He clears his throat. “It just means to get excited.” 

She nods and he disappears down the hall. He really doesn't want to be the one to ruin her near innocence. 

\------

The next morning, Billy ends up in his Camaro in front of the diner at nine forty. His anxiety may have led him to slightly overestimate his commute, which is really only a five minute drive.

He sits in his car for the duration of two songs (both  _ Queen _ ) and smokes a cigarette before he goes inside, figuring it would be weird if his mother saw him waiting around in the Camaro. Being this early is strange enough.

Inside, he chooses a booth by the front window so that he can see her approaching. The tables are greasy and there’s a crack in the red leather of the booth, but the Diner is cozy and holds memories of Max spilling her lemonade and Steve with Ketchup on his chin. He also recalls that here is where Jane first put syrup on her hashbrowns as now she always does, to Hopper’s dismay.

Billy is staring out the window when the waitress approaches his table, but the obnoxiously loud chewing of gum tips him off immediately. Of course, it would be just his luck that Carol is on her shift this morning.

“Hey, Billy,” she drawls, “haven’t seen you here in a hot minute.”

Bracing himself, Billy internally rolls his eyes but then turns to her with his practiced smirk, humored, but detached. “What can I say, Carol? I’m a busy man.”

“I can imagine.” She winks, as if she isn’t in a long term relationship. Her constant flirtation is somewhere between revolting and laughable, but Billy knows he isn’t really one to talk. For him though, it’s about appearances, while he knows she just really loves the attention.

Carol is probably expecting him to say something, but with his exhaustion at feigning interest in girls of late and his anxiety at meeting his mother, he stays silent.

Sensing this, she plucks a notepad and pen out of her pocket. That apron is definitely shorter than company regulations allow. “What do you want?”

“Oh, uh-”, he starts eloquently, “I’m waiting for someone.”

The professionalism -- if you could call it that -- that Carol had put on fell once again. “Are you on a date?”, she asks half-excitedly and, somehow still, half-flirtatiously. 

“No,” he chuckles easily. “I’m actually-”

He stops when behind Carol, he sees the door open and his mother walk in. Her hair is half-up and she’s wearing some plaid pants and a blue t-shirt, looking effortlessly like a candid shot from a beach in California. It’s crazy how much she looks like the San Francisco that Billy so dearly misses. He can almost smell the salt and the sunscreen and feel the pressing summer heat.

Spotting him, she gives him a shy, but radiant grin and begins to walk toward him. He gets up slowly and wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans.

Because apparently she can’t read a room, Carol recaptures Billy’s attention as his mother approaches. “Oh, so you are into older women,” she lilts with a wide smirk that reveals something stuck between her two front teeth. “I thought that thing with Mrs. Wheeler last summer was just a rumour.”

“It is,” Billy grits out somewhat awkwardly. “And, uh. This is my mother.”

Carol has the decency to look surprised and just a tad apologetic as she looks between them briefly and then walks off, mumbling that she’ll be back for their orders in a few minutes.

Luckily, his mother looks more amused than disgusted or offended. “Friend from school?”, she asks with a small smile.

“Something like that.” Billy lets out an incredulous huff of a laugh, then, when he’s sure Carol is well out of earshot, adds “She thinks, I really can’t stand her.”

Donna laughs and they take this as the least awkward time to sit down across from one and another. Billy watches as she takes off her light brown bomber jacket and places it next to her on a bench.

For a moment, they’re both silent, staring. Her eyes, matching the blue of her shirt, are bright and framed by lashes that, to his limited knowledge, look makeup-less. She’s wearing big colorful earrings that look out of place in the diner, but suit her well and her freckles are prominent, even against her tanned skin and are everywhere from her forehead to her wrists. Billy thinks that there’s more of her in him than there ever was of Neil.

For fear of showing more of himself than he fears he already has, Billy looks away. He hands her a menu from the stand on the table and says, “The juices here really suck, but the coffee isn’t bad.”

His mother looks glad that he broke the silence the way he did. “Thanks.” 

She opens the menu, and inspects it in silence for a few moments. Billy already knows what he wants to order, but scans the laminated pages all the same.

“Do you come here often?”, she asks then.

Billy shrugs. “Every now and then. We eat out once or twice a month and I come here for burgers with Max sometimes. Occasionally Steve or Robin.” 

The window in the building across the street reflects the sun in a bright glare that makes the menu hard to read. Billy readjusts the stand on the table to block it out.

“Who’s ‘we’?”, his mom asks. Upon Billy’s questioning gaze she clarifies, “When you say ‘we eat out once or twice a month’? You mean Hopper and his daughter?” 

Her genuine curiosity takes him aback for a moment until he remembers that that’s what they’re here for, and that she actually cares about what he has to say. 

“Yeah,” he manages to respond. “I’ve been living with them since I got out of the hospital in September. Neither Hopper nor I are particularly motivated or skilled cooks and if it was up to Jane we’d just have Eggos everyday, so we come here for variety’s sake.”

His joke is a little nervous, but it makes her exhale a short laugh. Seemingly remembering something, she then asks, “Why do you call her Jane? Hopper’s daughter, I mean. I remember Joyce telling me her name was El, but I’ve noticed that you call her Jane.”

“Oh, right.” Billy tucks a stray curl behind his ear. “She grew up with this piece of shit father that called her El, and that’s what she was known by when everyone else got to know her. But then by the time that I met her she had found out that her mother had actually named her Jane, so I opted to call her that. Both are on her official record and she doesn’t mind which one she’s called, but I never knew her as El and Jane just seemed like the better option.” His mother looks mildly addled by the information, so he adds, “It’s an insanely long story.”

“Sounds like it,” she smiles. “So, since when is she with Hopper?”

Billy thinks for a moment. “Spring ‘84, I think. Two years,”

His mom looks surprised. “Not that long, then.”

“Nope,” Billy jokes. “Jane and I were both the teenage foster kids that no one wanted, so the Chief took us.”

His mother gives a smile that’s laced with pity, but so warm that it doesn’t bother him as much as it usually does. “Hopper would’ve taken you even if he weren’t the Chief.”

Billy allows himself to smile back at her and believe that she’s right.

The moment is interrupted when Carol comes back to their table and asks if they’re ready to order.

“Are you?” He doesn’t want to rush his mom.

She nods and turns to Carol. “I’ll have a large black coffee and the cheese omelette with home fries.”

Carol jots this down, chewing her gum loudly, and then turns to Billy.

“Same coffee for me,” he orders, “and the blueberry pancakes.”

“Syrup on the side or on top,” Carol drawls. The words sound monotonously memorized.

“On the side.”

When she saunters off, hips swaying more than they need to be, silence befalls the table and Billy fears more awkwardness, but his mother breaks it quickly.

“You never did like when your toppings were put on for you.” She smiles sentimentally. “I remember you threw a temper tantrum in a restaurant once because they had put the ketchup on the fries before they served them.”

Billy snorts out a laugh. “I don’t remember that particular incident, but it does sound like me.”

“What do you remember?”, she prompts.

Billy thinks for a moment. “Not that much, but a bit. Lots of beach days. I didn’t like the big one at Funston so I always made you drive me out to Half Moon, even though it was so much farther. I would chase the seagulls and then you’d tell me that it wasn’t nice and that if I got through a whole beach day without bothering them, that you’d buy me an ice cream truck.” He chuckles a bit. “In retrospect, that’s an unrealistic bribe.”

His mother laughs. “Yeah, well, I knew that you’d never fully stop. I was just trying to minimize the harassment.”

“Did it work?”

She draws a long, uncertain sound and they both laugh. There’s undeniably an underlying tension to every interaction, but Billy is pleasantly surprised at their sentimental conversation. A mere two weeks ago he would’ve thought one insane if they told him he would be laughing about ‘70s beach days with his mother in a breakfast diner.

Two coffees are put down on the table in front of them and Carol gives Billy what he assumes is meant to be a seductive glance before she walks off. His face morphs into one of wide-eyed exasperation and his mother grins. 

“Not your type,” she asks.

“Look,” he explains as he takes a pack of sugar from a small basket on the table, “even if you had been around for the past decade, I would not be talking to you about what my type is.”

“That’s fair,” she laughs around her mug, and takes a sip of her coffee. There’s a teasing glint in her eyes that Billy can’t quite make out.

Somewhat awkwardly, he stares at his own red mug and asks, “Speaking of types, did you ever remarry? Have kids?”

“Sort of,” she nods and Billy can tell she’s a bit nervous. Frankly, he doesn’t know what he wants to hear. “I met my husband Phil back in ‘79, but we didn’t marry until nearly three years ago.. He has a daughter, Lucy, and is nothing like your father.”

Billy nods and processes this. He doesn’t mind that she has a family, not really, because he has one now too. He supposes it would bother him more if she had had another child of her own that she didn’t abandon. A step-daughter is fine. “How old is she?”, he asks. “Lucy.”

“Twelve.”

“Cool.” He really doesn’t know what else to say. Is there an etiquette for how to react when your absentee mother tells her she has a step-daughter?

If there is, his mom doesn’t seem to know of it either, so she just smiles for a moment, looking relieved, and then changes the topic. “I spoke to that girl Nancy briefly at the cookout and she told me about applying to schools in New York. Are you also applying to colleges for next year, or?”

Billy nods. “Yeah, but I’m not sure where I wanna go yet. I’ve applied to a few back in Cali, and Purdue here.”

“You like Indiana?” She doesn’t sound surprised, which he appreciates, just curious.

He shrugs. “It smells like cow shit and there’s nothing to do, but the whole party is here. Going back to the coast and leaving all of it behind is just…” he trails off, not able to find the right words if there are any. “I don’t know.”

Seeming to sense his discomfort, his mother backtracks. “Well, what do you want to study?”

Billy scrunches up his face in a sheepish smile. Every person he admits his major to is a struggle, because he feels the shame his father had taught him threatening to overwhelm his pride. “Literature,” he admits.

His mother's face breaks out in a delighted grin. “Really?”

Despite her enthusiastic response, Billy feels himself recoil a bit as he nods. She’s only the sixth person he’s told this.

“Billy, that’s really cool,” she negates his worry. “It’s what I studied.”

This takes him by surprise. “No kidding.”

His mother is still grinning at him from ear to ear as she shakes her head. 

“Where?”

“Santa Clara.”

“How did I not know that?”, Billy wonders out loud. It’s crazy to him that he chose the same major as his mother without ever really knowing her.

She laughs, still incredulous. “You were ten.”

“Yeah, that’s probably it.” He composes himself, having gotten over the initial surprise. “What do you do now, then?”

His mother does the same. “Nothing exciting I’m afraid, but I work at the Bernal Heights library. Not much of a selling point on your major there, sorry.”

He shakes his head. “No, that’s kind of cool. How long have you been working there?”

“Six years now,” she says after a beat. “It’s not the most glamorous job, but I quite like it.”

Billy is about to respond with another unoriginal quip agreeing with her when Carol comes to the table with their food. She sets it down in front of them with a sickly sweet smile and tells them to call if they need anything, and Billy finds that she still hasn’t noticed the food in her teeth. The pair largely ignore her.

As they eat, the conversation slows, but it doesn’t become as awkward as Billy believed it would. When he had come to the diner, he had high hopes, but low expectations, and thought that talking to her would be uncomfortable and maybe a little painful. Now, he finds that the breakfast is closer to his hopes than expectations, and that while there’s an undeniable caution behind every word and glance, they laugh and talk with relative ease. 

His mom tells him about Lucy and Phil and her life since ‘77, while Billy rambles on about the party and his job. They even get into a discussion about  _ To Kill A Mockingbird _ , and Billy silently recalls the time that Neil had confiscated it and he had nearly failed the English unit. His mother, on the other hand, claimed it was one of her top three favorite novels.

Despite the time and the distance and the years he spent hating her, Billy realizes how alike he is to her, more than he ever was to Neil. They both like their coffee the same way, chew their nails too much, hate the cold, and like Forster more than Austen. Weirdly, Billy feels somehow like their connection is present, if only a little battered, and lets himself believe for the first time in nine years that he has even one part of a biological family that loves him and will stick around. It’s a foreign feeling, but it makes him feel more grounded than he thinks he thinks he’s felt in years.

By the time their plates are cleared and they’ve finished their second cup of coffee, the hands of the big neon clock over the counter read 11:43. Billy and his mother have a brief argument over who should ask for and thus pay the bill, and ultimately decide to split it. It would feel awkward and childish to have his mother pay for his meal, and he’s certain she’s just trying to make up for lost time.

“Was everything satisfactory?”, Carol asks them as she pockets her money. She’s wearing a sickeningly superficial smile and Billy finds he really doesn’t miss this aspect of highschool, not that he misses many.

His mother nods and thanks Carol so that Billy doesn’t have to and he’s more grateful than he probably should be as an adult. It’s a strange echo of the dynamic they had lost so long ago, of the shy child meeting strangers or mean school kids, and the mother speaking for him.

They get up from the booth simultaneously and share a moment of uncertainty at how to say goodbye.

“This was wonderful, Billy,” his mother says finally. “I’m really, really glad you called.”

“Yeah, uh-”, he utters not-so gracefully, “me too.”

“Do you have any plans for your birthday?”, she asks hopefully. “I mean, I’m sure you do and I don’t want to impose, but I was hoping I could maybe drop by some time and give you your gift.”

Billy smiles. The fact that his mother will be giving him a birthday gift is surreally wonderful. “That would be great, yeah. I really don’t know what I’m doing on the day yet, but maybe you could come over Friday night? For a Dinner with the Hopper family?”

She breaks out into a grin. “That would be great.”

“Cool,” he breathes out. “I’ll talk to Hop and call you with the details.”

She nods.

Then, with all the bravery Billy hadn’t had to muster up since he literally sacrificed himself to an interdimensional monster, he takes a decisive step forward and gives her a hug. He can feel her tense up for just a moment before she wraps her arms around his torso and hugs him back as tightly as she can, pets the curls on his neck. He’s not even an inch taller than her.

Billy feels himself deflate, the years rolling up like rugs behind him until everything that’s happened unhappens, and he’s just a boy in the arms of his mother, a slate wiped clean. He hugs her tighter. 

She continues to pet the curls at the nape of his neck and he can feel a tear press against where his neck meets his t-shirt, but he doesn’t say a thing. Billy can feel his own eyes fog up with what he had and what he lost and what he found again.

Their hug is more drawn-out than is usual for a diner setting, and Billy can feel the eyes on them, but holds on just a little longer. When he pulls away, he gives her a sheepish smile and she sniffs a bit. They share a soft watery laugh.

“Sorry,” his mother says, dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket.

“It’s okay, mom.” He’s trying really hard not to cry himself.

She reaches out and briefly strokes his cheek, before grabbing her purse and trying to shake herself out of it. He lets her walk him to his car.

“I’ll call you tonight with the details,” he promises as he unlocks the Camaro.

His mom grins. “I’ll see you Friday, Billy.”

As he drives away, Billy can see her watch him leave in the rearview mirror and thinks that maybe he’s gonna be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked it!
> 
> billy deserves so much love and if the duffers aren't gonna give it to him then i will, dammit.


	7. Goat Cheese Salad and Lasagna (Donna)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy easter, babygirls!
> 
> this chapter was a tough write, but i spent literally all day writing it and trying to make it work, so here it is. 
> 
> enjoy :)

On her way to dinner that Friday, one day before Billy’s nineteenth birthday, Donna soaks up the sun blinding her through the windshield. It’s low, it’s almost seven pm after all, but its warmth prevails even as it sets, settling on the ground and the roofs of the passing houses. It’s a gorgeous evening and Donna intends to make the most of it.

Since Wednesday, she feels like a heavy weight has been lifted off of her shoulders. She’s felt burdened by guilt and sorrow for years, and finally feels like she can breathe again. There’s no sense in fooling herself by believing that she’s off the hook completely, she doesn’t know if she ever will be, but now that she has begun rebuilding her bridge to Billy, Donna is determined not to let it break this time around. She doesn’t know if she can stomach ever having to go another nine years without hugging her son as she had just two days previously. It simultaneously feels like two years and two seconds ago.

Pulling up to the address, Donna finds a small one-story home with plants in the windows and a colorful doormat on the porch. It looks warm and homey and feels not unlike the Byers residence. The lights are on in three of the seven visible windows.

With a steadying breath, she gets out of her car and smoothes the skirt of her patterned dress, and makes her way up the porch steps. She rings the doorbell with a nervous excitement.

It’s Billy that opens the door a moment or two later. He’s in a black and blue floral shirt and the jeans she has yet to see him without, and is grinning at her.

“You came,” he remarks.

Donna narrows her eyes playfully. “Was I not supposed to?”

He shakes his head quickly. “No, sorry -- that’s not what I meant.” A beat. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

They smile at each other dumbly for a moment, before Billy seems to shake himself out of it to open the door wider, gesturing for her to come in.

When she does, she’s immediately enveloped by the smell of tomatoes and onions and ground beef -- lasagna. There’s a record player on a shelf in the living room playing Fleetwood Mac, Rumours her mind supplies. She wonders if Billy remembers what a fan she is.

She’s about to open her mouth and make a genial comment about the house, when Hopper comes around the corner, closely followed by Jane. They both look more formal than Donna thinks she’s ever seen them -- Hopper in a dark button up and Jane in a green blouse and denim skirt -- and give a warm smile.

“Donna,” Hopper says by way of greeting. “It’s good to see you again. Welcome.”

“Thank you,” she breathes. “For inviting me, but also for everything before that.”

He just nods and smiles and Jane goes to show her where she can put her shoes and jacket. Donna is once again reminded of the fact that she and Billy have the same sneakers; it makes her smile.

Billy leads her into the living area, which includes some sofas and armchairs, a TV, a wall of cabinets, and a dining table. The last is prettily set with colorful napkins and a lovable, kitschy spring-themed centerpiece that looks like the result of a successful arts-and-crafts project. She notices Billy watching her as she takes in the mismatched plates and the small hole in the corner of the table cloth, and shoots him a reassuring smile, certain that a dining table set by herself back in San Francisco would have looked no different.

Jane and Hopper emerge from the kitchen then, donning a large wooden bowl and two bottles of salad dressing. “We thought we’d start with a salad,” Hopper explains as he sets the bowl down.

“Sounds good,” Donna.

“What do you want to drink?” Billy asks her. “We’ve got wine, beer, juice, water…”

Donna smiles. “Just water is fine, thanks. I’m my own designated driver, so…”

Her joke falls slightly flat, but coaxes a chuckle out of the group, so she counts it as a success. Billy goes to the kitchen for her water and there’s a beat of awkward silence as the rest of them stand around the table.

“Sit, please,” Hopper says then, cordially motioning to the chair by the window for Donna.

They take their seats, Jane and Hopper across from where he had motioned. When Billy returns, he sets the glass down in front of her and sits down to her left.

They’re mostly silent as they all help themselves to salad -- greens, tomatoes, pine nuts, and goat cheese, as Billy explains -- and pass around the dressing. There’s undeniably an awkward tension in the room, but it’s not quite as uncomfortable as Donna had feared it may be. There merely seems to be an uncertainty of what to talk about.

“We should toast,” Hopper suggests before they begin eating.

They all raise their glasses, sharing a small laugh as they realize that none of them know what to toast to. It’s Billy that eventually clears his throat.

“To family,” he says, “Old and new.”

Donna smiles at him with all the love she can muster as glasses clink and some of the awkwardness subsides into a familiar warmth as they dig into their salads. For a few beats, the room is filled with the sounds of cutlery on porcelain and Stevie Nicks singing of thunder and rain and players.

“Billy,” Hopper speaks then. “Do you wanna tell your mother the good news?”

Donna looks over to her son in intrigue, who looks a bit shy with the attention on him. He tucks a stray curl behind his ear and swallows.

“I‘m not sure if I wanna go,” he starts, “but I got an acceptance letter from Stanford this morning.” The way he relays this information to the table sounds almost like he’s admitting to a transgression.

“With a full-ride scholarship,” Hopper adds with a proud smile.

With a widening grin on her own face, Donna sets her fork down. “Billy, that’s incredible.”

He just shrugs, and says, “Apparently almost dying while fighting the Russians does well on college essays,” but she can tell by his bashful smile that he agrees with her. She also knows and understands his hesitancy to go all the way to California now that he has his family here.

“If you do decide to go, it’d be wonderful to have you around,” she assures him. “I can show you all the best coffee joints and cheap restaurants.”

Billy shoots her a grateful smile. “Thanks. I really do still need to think about it though. Purdue is also a good school.”

“That it is.”

The conversation ends there and moves on to Donna’s work as they finish their salad. Jane’s piano lessons become the primary subject when they cut up the lasagna, and by Donna’s second portion Hopper is recalling his youth at Hawkins high.

“I wasn’t the best student,” he admits. “I passed my classes okay, but I never cared enough to do more than that.” He gestures to Billy and Jane. “These two are proper brainiacs, though. I still think Billy would’ve been valedictorian if he hadn’t gotten suspended as often as he did.”

Billy has the nerve to look a little smug as Donna eyes him with an expression somewhere between amused and incredulous.

“And you got suspended why?”, she asks.

He shrugs. “Threw a couple punches a couple of times.”

“And called a teacher an asshole to his face,” Hopper adds with a pointed look at Billy.

Billy bristles. “Yeah, well he was being an asshole.”

Donna laughs in spite of herself. “Nice to see that that hasn’t changed. Back in third grade I had to pick you up from school one day because you had told a teacher off about some fact he refused to accept he had gotten wrong.”

“Wait,” Billy perks up. “I think I remember that. He kept insisting that sea turtles could breathe underwater, which they absolutely cannot.”

Everyone laughs at that and Jane lets out a loud snort, which only makes her, and everyone in turn, laugh a bit harder.

Not for the first time, Donna finds herself admiring the dynamic of the small family, which is both endlessly complex and startingly simple. The three of them seem to have found each other through a series of coincidences and tragic events, all them marred and scarred by what they’ve seen and endured. She doesn’t know the whole story, of course, but she’s picked up on enough to know that there was more than just Russians in Hawkins, that Jane’s name El is short for the number eleven that seems to be _tattooed_ on her arm, and that Will Byers did not get lost in the woods for a week. The whole extended party of a group has been wrapped up in the madness, but through all the messiness and hurt and complexity, Donna can see that the three of them are, at the heart of it, just a family. Hopper is, ultimately, just a gruff but lovable father who would do anything to protect his young: the shy girl that’s breaking out of her seams into a bright confidence, and the rough-at-the-edges boy-turned-man that’s transforming into something softer, but no less strong. They’re the kind of individuals that people make movies about.

When the laughter dies down, Donna tells them, perhaps against her better judgement, “You and that whole party are by far the most interesting and memorable people I’ve ever met.”

They’re all momentarily stunned into silence, but the smiles on their faces show more flattery than discomfort.

Then, Jane frowns. “But you’re from California.”

Donna nods, wondering why this statement came now.

“We’re more interesting than people in California?”

Donna laughs heartily at this and nods. Hopper wears an affectionately amused smile.

“Jane’s never been outta state,” Billy explains “As far as we know.”

“I never left Idaho until my college tours when I was seventeen,” Donna says. “And then I fell in love with California and have rarely left since.”

“Well you must be thrilled to be Indiana now,” Billy drawls with a teasing glint in his eye. “It’s the most exciting state out there.”

Donna huffs a little laugh. “Yeah, well, the trip was worth it.”

She shares a meaningful smile with her son and counts it as a blessing, tries to take a mental picture.

“El’s going to Chicago with Mike and his folks for memorial day, though,” Hopper says after a short silence.

Reminded of this upcoming event, Jane beams. “His dad has some business thing there and we get to come along for the weekend. I’m creaming my pants.”

Hopper chokes on the lasagna he was just chewing and Billy, who was just taking a sip of water, nearly spits it out all over the table. Donna lets out a startled little chortle. Jane looks puzzled at their reactions

“Where on earth,” Hopper demands when he collects his bearings, “did you hear that?”

Jane looks back at him with wide eyes. “Billy said it means excited.”

At that, Donna can’t help the laugh that bursts out of her, though she covers it with her hand to maintain some semblance of courtesy. Billy tries to hide his laugh under a sheepish visage when Hopper stares him down.

“I was talking to Steve on the phone and she asked me what it meant,” he tries. “What was I gonna do, give her an accurate definition?”

“Just don’t say stuff like that in her presence,” Hopper sighs, and by the sound of it this is not the first such incident that has happened in this household. He shakes his head exasperatedly, but even he can’t conceal the ghost of an amused smile.

He turns to Jane. “I’m going to need you to entirely erase that from your vocabulary, got it?”

With a slight roll of her eyes, Jane nods. Undoubtedly, she’ll figure out what it means from someone else.

There’s a beat of silence broken by Billy’s laugh finally escaping in a strange snort, which infects the rest of the table. Jane is excluded this time and the look she gives Donna is evident of the fact that she resents this.

“Oh, god,” Donna breathes as she recovers from her fit. “Where were we?”

The conversation goes back to one of American geography and travel. It turns out that of the four of them, Donna is the only one to have ever left the US, and that was only to the Mexican border. Jane wants to see the world, she says, travel to Europe and Asia and everywhere else and then settle in the place she liked most. Desperately missing the salty air and loud seagulls, Billy decides he just wants to be anywhere with a coast.

“Speaking of the coast,” Donna says then. Nervously, she continues. “My husband is getting called away for business next weekend and I need to be back in San Francisco by Thursday, so I’m gonna have to leave tomorrow afternoon. It’s short notice, and I’m sorry, I just thought I should let you know.”

 _Rock on, Gold Dust Woman, take your silver spoon, dig your grave,_ Stevie Nicks croons in the background of the short silence.

“Yeah, no, that’s cool,” Billy blurts. “I mean, we’ll stay in touch.” It’s not framed as a question, but it might as well be.

“Of course,” she answers, no hesitation. “Expect a lot of letters and phone calls and not-so-subtle attempts to veer you toward Stanford.

Billy huffs a little laugh. “I’ll look forward to it.”

And then Jane is asking what California is like and Donna goes off on a tangent with Billy cutting in now and then. Hopper watches them with little to add to that particular conversation.

Before they all know it, it’s after nine pm, the Fleetwood Mac record has gone quiet, and their hunger is long diminished. Jane has been yawning twice a minute for the past half hour.

They all get up from the table and Donna offers to help clear the dishes. Hopper and Billy both tell her not to bother, but she walks to the kitchen with the glasses anyway, earning her a passively amused glance from her son.

“Any big plans for tomorrow?”, she asks him as she slips on her sneakers by the door fifteen minutes later.

Billy smiles mostly to himself. “None I know about, but Steve’s a bad liar and I think he has something planned.”

“Well, I hope you have loads of fun,” Donna tells him. “And whenever you get the chance, you can open this.”

She turns to where her purse is next to the door and pulls out a thick-book-sized box, gift wrapped in blue and gold. She hopes he’ll appreciate it despite the circumstances.

After a moment in which Donna fears he will reject her gift, Billy takes it from her with a quiet “Thank you”. When he looks up at her, she can see that his eyes are glassy, which only makes her emotional all over again.

For the second time this week, Donna gathers him up in her arms and hugs him tight. It takes him less than a second to hug her back this time.

He’s always been her little boy in her mind, but now, with his chest broader than hers and their shoulders at level, she is once again painfully reminded of the fact that he’s all grown up and she wasn’t there to see it. Steeling herself not to cry again, she strokes the curls on his neck and they stand there like that for a moment, more one than two in the dim lighting of the hall.

Billy pulls away with a sniffle and Donna chuckles.

“Happy Birthday, sunshine.”

“Thanks, mom.”

They stand in the doorway with uncertainty, not sure just how to say goodbye. Everything is entirely different now, but something in the back of Donna’s mind makes her fear another separation. After nine years without Billy, saying goodbye to him so soon makes her physically ache, but she has to get back to her life in San Francisco. She can’t stay in Hawkins and they both know it, just as they know that this is by far not the end of their narrative. It doesn’t mean there’s no irrational worry.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get back to Cali,” Donna finds herself saying.

Billy smiles. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” she assures. “I’ll drive back out sooner than I’ll go another year without seeing you. I love you, Billy, more than anything in the world. Never forget that, okay?”

He nods and swallows down the emotion she can see bellowing up inside him.

She reaches out and takes his hand, squeezes it tight.

Hopper comes out into the hall, Jane close behind him. They both say nothing, clearly not wanting to interrupt Donna and Billy, but hover in the doorway.

Donna releases Billy’s hand from her grip and goes to say goodbye to the pair. While Billy is obviously the individual she is most sad to leave behind, she can’t deny that she’ll miss everyone else too. The whole party was so vivid and warm, protective of Billy and thus weary of her, but still kind and able to give her the benefit of the doubt. It’s not something she’ll ever be able to thank them enough for.

As she walks to her car in the crisp night air a few minutes later, the stars twinkling above her, she can feel Billy watching her from the porch. She unlocks her car and throws her purse to the passenger side, about to get in when he calls out to her. ‘Calls’ would be the wrong word, perhaps, for how soft his voice comes out despite its volume, but Donna feels almost beckoned by his voice.

“Thank you,” he says with emotion in every syllable. “For everything.”

Her heart in her eyes, Donna smiles at him and nods, before she tears herself from his ocean gaze and gets in the Allegro. She waves as she drives off, leaving Billy on the porch and his family in the little house behind him.

The bridge between them is far from sturdy, but it’s there, and Donna thanks every spiritual being she knows of for the chance she got to build it. Tomorrow, she’ll be back on the road to her life in California in which nothing will have changed except everything, because she’s no longer living it to repent or escape her guilt. She’s just living it to live it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ét voila!
> 
> donna's headed back to cali and billy's turning nineteen with a birthday gift from his mom. tune in next sunday for billy's birthday, which i've made april 19th 'cause i'm clever like that.
> 
> thanks so much for all your support, hope you're staying safe and sane :)


	8. Nineteen (Billy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey babygirls,
> 
> this is my by far longest (9000+ words, holy shit) and also probably favourite chapter yet. i did nothing all day but go for a morning jog and write this, so i hope it was worth it.
> 
> enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it :)
> 
> ps. the fleetwood mac fixation that started this story has very obviously morphed into a wham! one. sorry not sorry.

On April 19th, Billy wakes to the smell of pancakes.

The sun is shining brightly through the blinds, creating stripes on the walls and cabinets of his room and dipping everything in a golden light. The warmth is enhanced by the waft of sweetness seeping in through the crack under the door and the cheerful music Billy can hear travel through the walls of the house.

A year ago, Billy had awoken to a blaring alarm, humid rain, and stale smell of cigarettes. Neil and Susan had already left the house.

Now, he pushes the past out of his mind and sits up, rubbing his face. He catches sight of his messy hair and bleary eyes in the mirror across the room and decides that that’s something to worry about later. Right now, he wants pancakes.

He throws on a t-shirt and wanders out into the hall. Jane and Hop can both be heard in the kitchen, voices mixing with the clink of cutlery and the sizzle of butter in a pan. Out here, Billy can smell that the pancakes are blueberry, his favorite, and that the kitchen stereo is playing Bowie.

When he walks into the kitchen, he’s immediately greeted by a beaming Jane and her arms around his waist. She’s still in her pajamas and there’s pancake mix in her hair.

“Happy Birthday,” she chimes as she pulls back. 

Billy thanks her and removes some mix from a strand by her face.

“Happy nineteenth, kid,” Hopper smiles then, and Billy steps forward to give him a quick but no less sincere hug.

Billy offers to help set the table or finish the pancakes, but Hopper and Jane practically forbid him from doing so. After nearly a decade of birthdays with Neil, he frankly thinks the whole ordeal is all a bit ridiculous, but he wants to humor them so he lets it slide. Deep down in his subconscious, he maybe also loves the affectionate attention.

In place of letting him help, Jane promptly sends Billy back to his room to get properly dressed, though she won’t tell him what for. 

“Whatever you want to wear,” she tells him, “but for outside.”

With no more information to get out of her -- she takes secrets _very_ seriously --, he rolls his eyes at her with a good-natured grin and turns back to his room. He very nearly stumbles on the loose flap of carpet in the hallway and reminds himself once again to fix it, which he may or may not have been telling himself to do for about a month now.

After a moment or two of contemplation, Billy throws on his most riskily not-straight shirt, purple with small orange and lilac flowers, and his favorite pair of levis. He fixes his hair and puts on his three necklaces, some cheap drug store cologne, and his dangly earring. It’s his birthday, he reasons, he can get away with the look.

When he returns to the living area, there's a large plate stacked with pancakes on the table and a lit candle stuck in the middle of them. It looks ridiculous.

Hopper and Jane sing to him a little off-key and pull out his chair for him as though he’s a damn royal, won’t even let him pour his own juice. They're partly messing with him, he knows, but he follows the script and quips back where he can, pinches Jane in the sides so that she squeals and jumps away from him.

As they sit and eat breakfast with copious amounts of syrup and laughter, they look almost like a family in a cheesy TV ad. Billy bristles with all the attention and fishes hair out of his pancakes, well aware that it’s the best birthday morning he can remember having.

The gifts they give him after breakfast are both covered in obnoxiously bright striped wrapping paper and topped with big red bows. Strangely, the box Jane hands him in wrapped more nicely than Hoppers.

Billy opens hers first, and she tells him as he’s tearing the wrapping open along its seams that it’s also from Max; It was a group effort. With an inquisitive look her way he opens the nondescript black box and can’t help the way his jaw slacks slightly at the contents. A pair of sleek, black aviator sunglasses sit on silky fabric inside and Billy vaguely remembers trying them on months ago, but not getting them.

“They were really cool and we thought you should have them,” Jane explains. “We went back to the store the next day.”

“Thanks so much, Janie,” Billy grins at her, eyes sparkling with a childish materialistic joy that no one ever really outgrows. The glasses are awesome, and he’s endlessly thankful for his quasi-sisters. He’ll thank Max when he sees her next, Monday at the latest.

When Billy closes the glasses case and sets it aside for a moment, Hopper pushes his gift toward him. “That’s from me and Joyce.”

It turns out that Joyce and Hopper had gotten Billy a brand new bright red Sony Walkman, which is just about the best thing they could have gotten him. He has one, of course, but it’s an old one from back in Santa Barbara with cracked plastic and a broken rewind button, so the upgrade is much appreciated. Billy says as much, grins from ear to ear, and gives Hopper a small hug. Joyce will get the same when he sees her.

With the David Bowie tape in the living room stereo reaching its end, Jane and Hopper practically shoo Billy back into his room with his gifts so that he won’t clean up the breakfast table like he’s itching to, because they know him too well.

It isn’t until he’s back in his four walls that Billy remembers that he has another gift he has yet to open. The box in blue wrapping sits on his desk almost ominously, simultaneously beckoning and repelling him. Billy wants to open it, but he’s also terrified of its contents, not able to decide if it would be worse if it were really shitty or really wonderful.

Steeling himself, he eventually sits down in his swivelly wooden desk chair and picks up the parcel. With deliberate, careful movements, he removes the bow and then the paper, revealing a battered-looking dark red box, a bit smaller than a shoebox, and a San Francisco postcard taped to the top.

He traces the colorful buildings and the shore and the golden gate bridge in the background, before carefully removing the tape from the card and flipping it over.

_Billy,_

_I’ve missed out on so much with you, but that doesn't mean you weren’t on my mind. The box is full of little notes and letters and photos I took through the years of all the things I wanted to say and experience with you. I hope I get a chance to make some of it up._

_Happy 19th, sunshine._

_Love, Mom_

He reads it over again and again, disbelieving of the fact that this is a birthday card from his mom, and there’s more of the sort in the box. She curves her Ls in the same large, loopy way he does and the telltale smudge of ink in the left margin makes him remember that she’s where he got his left-handedness from. 

After staring at the postcard and then the lid of the box for probably five full minutes, Billy takes a few deep breaths and then opens the lid. He hasn’t read a single word, but the sight of colorful sticky notes, labeled polaroids (is that a baby picture of him?), and the envelopes neatly labelled for each of his birthdays bring tears to Billy’s eyes.

He fishes out the colorful array of sticky notes first, finding that they vary from mundane notes like _There’s a new Rocky Road variation at that ice cream shop you love_ to quotes that look to be from novels like _If we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ideal of being known_ . Some are longer, written in tiny font, while others are only a few words long and scribbled in marker. There’s a few vocab words -- _sybilline, limerence, anachronism_ \--, and even a small doodle of a sunflower.

The Polaroids are just as diverse. There’s some of the city - hilly streets and seagulls on piers and tourists with big cameras -- and a few close ups of novels and ice cream cones and flowers in parking lots, but what catches Billy’s attention most are the few photos of him as a child from before she had left. He was always such a wide-eyed boy, light curls framing his face like a halo in so many of the photos that were taken in the bright sunlight. He looks so happy, so hopeful, that it makes his nineteen year old traumatized and cynical self a bit sad for a moment.

Before he can wallow too much, there’s a soft knock on his door and Billy looks up from the polaroid of himself sitting on a kitchen counter with jam on his face to see Steve with his arms crossed, leaning in his doorway. He must’ve been so immersed in the box that he didn’t hear him come in the house.

Billy says nothing for a moment and just soaks in the sight of Steve with his big hair and his light jeans and dark blue polo, grinning at him with his obscenely pink mouth.

“Happy Birthday, B,” Steve says eventually.

At this, Billy forces himself to get a fucking grip and, putting the photos he was holding down on his desk, gets up to hug Steve.

While affection between them (and also between Billy and everyone else) was originally more than a bit awkward, their arms wrap around each other with a familiar ease now, Billy stretching around Steve’s broad shoulders while Steve’s arms find his waist. The way Steve nuzzles his way into Billy’s shoulder on the occasional hug, of which this seems to be one, makes Billy glad that he’s being held up as strongly as he is for fear of his knees giving out beneath him. Steve smells like comfort and safety and also every single one of Billy’s wet dreams.

Billy thanks him when they pull apart, startling when he gets another good look at Steve. His plain blue polo had looked like just that earlier when Steve had had his arms crossed in front of his chest, but now, with hands at sides still halfway between Billy’s body and his own, Billy can see that the shirt has been cut off just above the belly button, revealing a glorious strip of pale skin above his jeans. Billy wants to lick it.

He swallows. “Since when do you wear crop tops?”

Steve blushes a lovely shade of red and tries to pull it down some, which doesn't really work. “I lost a bet with Robin,” he explains.

For a moment Billy says nothing, but then, trying to be casual about it and probably failing, he says, “Looks good” and gives Steve a mischievous smile.

“Thanks,” Steve mumbles. He’s still embarrassed about it, clearly, but _hot damn,_ Billy would pay to see him in that everyday.

Tearing him from his frankly obscene train of thoughts, Steve asks him about the box a moment later, about what he was doing.

“It’s uh-” Billy struggles to get his brain back online. “It’s a birthday gift from my mom.”

“Your mom?” But Steve doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s already brushing past Billy and picking up a photo from the desk. “Holy fucking shit, Billy,” he grins then. “You were _adorable_.”

Even though he’s literally complimenting a photo of him at age four, Billy bristles at the compliment. “Everyone’s cute when they’re a kid,” he shrugs.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, not even looking up from the photo, “but not _this_ cute. _Christ_ , Billy, how are you not showing this to everyone you meet?”

Billy rolls his eyes, saunters up next to where Steve has begun flipping through the polaroids. “You’re being dramatic, pretty boy.”

“Am not.”

Well aware that contradicting him would result in a childish ping-pong-like back and forth, Billy bites his tongue and let’s Steve coo at the photos exaggeratedly. It flatters him more than it probably should.

After what must be a full minute of Billy chuckling at his repeated fawning, Steve finally turns from the photos to the box. He takes in the sight of it, the colorful mix of papers, and his eyes soften.

“This is all from your mom?”, he asks softly.

Billy can only nod.

“Holy shit.”

Shuffling up next to where Steve is at his desk, Billy watches him read the notes and take in the envelopes still in the box. The only sounds are the crinkles of paper as Steve shuffles through them and the familiar sound of Jane using the walkie talkie in the next room. It doesn’t occur to Billy to stop Steve from reading all the notes, which strikes him as strange only when he thinks of the moment back a few hours later. Then again, it's _Steve_ , and Billy’s come to trust him more than he’s ever trusted anyone. 

All his life, Billy has been fighting vulnerability and finding himself distrustful of everything and everyone, and he was okay with that. “Okay” may have been the wrong term, but the point is that Billy was used to it, it was just how he was wired. When Steve weaseled his way into Billy’s life and tore down his walls one by one, he did it so carefully and gradually that Billy didn’t even know it was happening until he was virtually exposed down to his last standing wall of fake heterosexuality. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but by the time Billy noticed what had happened it was already a welcome one.

Though his door is still slightly ajar, he doesn't notice Jane and Hopper leave until he hears the engine of the van rev. The tires make a loud grinding sound on the gravel as it pulls out of the driveway.

With a suspicious frown, Billy turns to his friend. “Steve?”, he questions. “Where did Hop and Jane just go?”

“Why would I know?”, Steve responds, but the way he refuses to meet Billy’s eyes makes it clear that he knows _exactly_ where they’re going. He’s a hilariously bad liar.

And yet, Billy doesn't let on to his suspicion and lets Steve believe he doesn’t know there’s a plan. 

“Are you gonna read those letters?”, Steve asks then. He motions to the envelopes still in the box.

Billy sighs and shrugs. “Yeah. But not right now. Don’t quite feel like going through all that today.”

Because he knows Billy so well, Steve doesn’t press. He just nods and puts down the note he was holding. The faded pink color of the paper contrasts sharply with the dark wood of the desk.

Steve gives the box one last glance, then turns to Billy. “You ready to go?”

“Where?”, Billy responds cheekily, knowing that Steve won’t tell him anything.

“Nice try.”

Having put the notes and photos back in the box, they leave it in Billy’s bookshelf and head to where the Beemer is parked outside.

There’s a small parcel wrapped in newspaper on the passenger seat when Billy opens the door and Steve, already taking a seat on the other side, shoots him a grin. With a fond roll of his eyes, Billy takes the gift from the seat and gets in himself.

“Newspaper?”, Billy questions as he slams the door closed. “And I thought your Harrington genes made you all fancy.”

“Shut up and open it,” Steve snaps, but there’s no bite behind it. He turns a bit in his seat to face Billy.

Ripping open the wrapping quite impetuously -- it’s only newspaper, after all -- Billy reveals a shiny new tape. Billy bristles. “Seriously?”

Steve gives him an exasperated and incredibly deadpan look. “You know you can stop pretending you don’t like Wham!.”

“I-”, Billy starts, but immediately falters and looks back at the _Make It Big_ tape in his hand. “Damn it. I fucking love Wham!.”

He feels a grin spread on his face, and a look back up to Steve shows he’s doing the same. Sometimes, too often, Billy forgets that he doesn’t have to pretend so much anymore. So what, he has a bit of a crush on Andrew Ridgeley? No one will immediately know that just my him owning a damn Wham! tape.

His grin softens then, turns gooier than he’d ever admit to it turning. “Thanks, Stevie.”

Steve huffs out a small laugh. “‘Course.” He sticks the keys in the ignition, and adds, “Also, don’t call me that.” The motor springs to life.

“Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

Steve gives him the finger, but there’s a smile on his lips.

\----

“Okay,” Steve announces when he stops in a nodescript-looking parking lot about forty-five fucking minutes later. “I don’t have a blindfold, so I will be using my hands.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Billy scoffs. “You’re covering my eyes? What cheesy movie did I just walk into?”

Steve pouts at him in a way that is anything but fair. “Just play along, please? I swear it’s worth it.”

Look, with the way Steve softens his already melty eyes and juts out his pink bottom lip, Billy reasons that no one could possibly deny him anything. He just happens not to be above it.

They step out of the car and Steve gets a duffel bag out of the trunk. It’s nearly noon now, and the sun is beating down on the concrete ground around Billy with a warmth that feels more like early June than April. The sky is adorned with just a few chalky clouds that look straight out of a cartoon.

Billy lets Steve guide him to where the lot goes off into a path through a patch of trees and manages not to be too annoyed when Steve drapes the bag around his shoulder to cover Billy’s eyes with his hands. Whatever was left of his irritation gives way to something between calm and giddiness at the sensation of Steve’s large palms gently covering his face and the steady, solid warmth of his body behind Billy’s. They stumble along the path slowly and clumsily, and Billy is beginning to wonder when it will ever end when he registers the ground under his feet change into something softer, more pliant. The little light he can detect grows brighter.

Now, he can hear a few hushed voices that are definitely supposed to be quieter than they are.

“Where the hell do we hide?”

“You don’t have to hide, dumbass.”

“It’s a valid question, Micheal.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Guys, literally just shut up.”

“Says you?”

“Okay, now there’s absolutely no way he hasn’t heard us.”

Though his eyes are still covered and he’s supposed to be in the dark about everything, Billy belts out a laugh. “Oh, wow,” he chuckles. “You guys are really shit at surprise parties.”

With a defeated sigh that brushes against Billy’s neck and absolutely does _not_ make him shudder, Steve removes his hands from Billy’s face. “You literally one single job, assholes,” he chastises.

A loud chorus of out-of-sync “Happy Birthday”s rings out.

Billy blinks to adjust to the bright sunlight and then takes in the sight before him. The kids are all here, as are Jonathan, Nancy, and Robin, and they’re surrounded by multiple blankets filled with tupperwares of snacks and candies. Most startlingly, they’re on the sandy shore of a lake; an honest-to-god Indiana _beach_.

“It’s not Cali, I know,” Steve points out, “but it’s the best I could do without plane tickets.”

Unabashedly, Billy grins from ear to ear and lets out a startled, breathy laugh. He turns to Steve. “You did this?”

Steve nods and shrugs a little sheepishly and is no doubt about to say something self-deprecating and dismissive when Billy practically hurls himself at him. The taller boy stumbles, but hugs him back enthusiastically.

“I don’t fucking deserve you,” Billy grins as he pulls back. 

Steve opens his mouth to probably argue, but then everyone else is crowding around Billy and shouting out their congratulations, already talking a mile a minute.

When Max steps forward Billy leans down -- not as much as he remembers having to -- and gives her a tight hug, thanks her for the glasses. 

“It’s not my fault you were too damn frugal to buy them,” she teases. Billy halfheartedly sticks his tongue out at her like the adult he is.

When the clamour settles, Robin enthusiastically suggests that they start with presents. She's make-up less today, wearing a black and white striped shirt and shorts of denim so dark they look nearly black. She looks softer than she usually does, more at ease.

As everyone disperses to their bags, Billy startles. “Wait. You got me gifts?”

The whole group seems surprised at his question, some faces wear confused frowns. 

“Of course,” Will shrugs. “You’re an honorary party member now.”

He says it so matter-of-factly that Billy doesn't dare argue. Instead, he watches the whole party take a seat in a circle in the sand. Steve taps the spot between him and Will and looks over at Billy with a beckoning smile.

Billy’s heart constricts. Feeling only mildly overwhelmed, he sits down criss-cross-applesauce.

The kids begin to bicker over who should give their gift first, which Jonathan takes as his opening. With a fond roll of his eyes, he leans across the circle and gives Billy a small parcel, ignoring Dustin’s outrage at his “cheating the system”.

Billy tears off the yellow paper to reveal a _The Clash_ tape and a photograph. The picture shows Steve, Robin, and him from what he guesses is last Friday. He and Robin both have their heads thrown back in laughter and Steve, who’s body is barely visible behind where Billy is perched on his lap, grins at them. He loves it, tells Jonathan as much.

Nancy hands her hers next. It’s heavy in Billy’s hands and turns out to be a novel: _Gravity’s Rainbow_ by Thomas Pynchon.

“It’s long as hell and has a lot of stream of consciousness passages, but I really liked it,” Nancy explains. “I thought you might too.”

“Thanks,” Billy grins. “I let you know when I finish these 800 fucking pages in about year.”

She laughs. 

Billy can see Steve refraining from calling him out on his language, but with the kids in high school, the whole not-swearing thing has grown old anyway.

“Dibs!”, Dustin shouts suddenly. “We’re next.” 

Lucas gives him a hard shove and calls him rude as hell, but Mike is already leaning forward and placing an incredibly messily wrapped gift by Billy’s right knee.

Billy doesn’t unwrap it as much as he undoes a bow and then it falls apart to reveal a dark red and white paisley bandana.

It's just a bandana, but the mere thought that these three chaotic forces that fought about everything and nothing had wandered around stores, undoubtedly bickering for hours, until deciding on this damn piece of cloth makes his heart soar. Also it's a pretty cool bandana. 

He thanks them with a grin. “This is sick, guys, thanks. I would put it on now but it clashes with my shirt.”

Mike snorts and says “gay”, under his breath, making Dustin laugh. Billy swallows heavily and tries to repress the anger he feels threatening to emerge.

He succeeds at this partly because Robin suddenly thrusts her gift in his lap. It’s rectangular and wrapped in rainbow striped wrapping paper.

He peels it away to reveal the cover of a book with the profile of a man. _Dancer From the Dance_ , it reads, by Andrew Holleran, and of course Billy's heard of it, knows what it's about. It’s one of the queerest books out there, filled with gay New York City night life, self-discovery, and drag queens.

He looks up at Robin with a small smile tugging at his lips and they share a look. In just a few moments he knows that she knows about him, who he is, that he's like her, but it doesn't bother him really at all, which comes as a startling realization. When he thanks her a moment later, it's for more than the novel.

"Of course," she responds matter-of-factly, letting nothing on to the others of the new understanding between them.

Mike made a shitty joke, he doesn’t know about Billy _or_ Robin, and has grown up with fucking Ted Wheeler. It’s no excuse, but it’s an explanation.

Max tears him from his thoughts by handing him a tupperware of brownies. “It’s from my mom,” she explains. “I know you didn’t like her and I don’t blame you, but you can’t deny that you miss her brownies.”

His face breaks out in a full grin for the utmost time that day, and he takes a brownie from the box right then and there. He can’t believe Susan remembered his birthday.

“Can I also have one?” Dustin looks across the circle with wide, hopeful eyes.

Steve scoffs. “Come on, dude. They’re literally Billy’s birthday present.”

Undoubtedly with fudge in his teeth, Billy grins wickedly at Dustin, earning him a disgusted groan from nearly everyone in the group. That said, he also eventually ends up splitting up his brownies and giving everyone a piece.

Now though, he snags a paper towel from behind Robin and wipes the fudge off of his hand to accept Will’s gift. It’s skinny, but a bit bigger than a regular school binder.

Billy unwraps it more carefully than he has anything else today, because it's _Will’s_ and Billy will be damned if he breaks whatever the gentle boy got him. After everything with the upside down and now with Joyce and Hopper, he feels strangely protective of him, sees some of his own guilt and reclusiveness festering beneath his pale skin. 

The paper gone, Billy peers upon the cardboard in his hands with wonder. It’s a gorgeous pencil and watercolor drawing of the party, him included. The kids are all in the front, complete with Lucas’ damn slap bracelet, Max’ skateboard, and Jane in her favorite purple dress. Behind them stand, from left to right, Johnathan, Nancy, Billy, Steve, and Robin. It’s a gorgeous drawing: all bright colors and wide smiles. The lot of them don’t stand stiffly, but look natural and somehow even in motion. Jane and Mike are holding hands, the wind whips Max’ fiery hair around her freckles, Jonathan has his arm around Nancy and there’s a camera dangling around his neck. Robin is giving Steve those damn finger rabbit ears. And Billy looks positively radiant with a giant grin and golden curls fanning out around his head like a halo.

Billy stares, stares some more.

When he looks over at Will after what must be a full minute, he has to swallow down the emotion lodged in his throat to thank him. Will looks relieved, as though Billy could possibly reject it, and says that he’s glad he likes it.

The picture is passed around the group and Will is complimented copiously, as he should be. They all laugh when they discover Dart peeking out from behind Dustin’s legs. Max takes out her polaroid and snaps a photo of it and Jonathan does the same with his Canon with a promise to make everyone a copy. By the time Steve stashes it safely at the bottom of his bag, Will looks overwhelmed with the affection.

Knowing the feeling, Billy reaverts attention by asking if anyone thought to bring swim stuff. Turns out they’re all already wearing their suits under their clothes. Jane hands Billy a bag she packed with his own shorts and towel.

“That’s one downside of a surprise party,” Billy muses as they all begin to undress. “Now I’ve got to fucking change.”

He does so half hidden behind a maple in the line of trees, and when he emerges, he very pointedly _doesn’t_ look directly at Steve.

As soon as they notice him, the group gradually shushes. They stare. He lets them.

He doesn’t even really mind the white and pink scars scattered across his torso in lily-like shapes. They don’t hurt anymore, not counting the occasional phantom ache that his therapist says is a typical symptom of PTSD, but they look gruesome and definitely on the other end of attractive. While the vain part of his brain resents that, he knows that they’re proof of the one good thing he ever did, so he won’t hide them, not here. He may be uncomfortable, but he refuses to be ashamed.

Robin averts her eyes first, having seen them a few times over the course of their sleepovers, and Steve follows soon after. He’s traced his fingers over them on more than one occasion.

Probably unsurprisingly, Dustin and Lucas stare until Max whacks them in the head with her towel. They both look apologetic and go back to changing.

Soon, they’re all stripped down to their swimwear. The bright red bikini Max is sporting is one Billy is certain Neil doesn’t know about, though Jane still seems to have been unable to avoid Hoppers no-bikini-until-college-rule and is in a floral blue one-piece. Mike still stares.

With just a glance, Billy takes in the way Will's eyes linger on Mike's exposed stomach instead of Max's, and decides that it's time for him to part with the worn copy of Forster’s _Maurice_ he'd stolen from a Santa Barbara library back in '82 and give it to Will. 

He also opens his mouth to chew out the other boys for their ogling Max, but she flips them off with an ease that makes him realize that she has it handled. After resenting her as his kid sister for all those years, he sometimes forgets that she's kind of a badass teenager now.

With the afternoon heat pressing down on the beach, they’re all more than happy to dip into the cool water. Billy and Robin run in first, splashing Dustin who was taking his sweet time wading in, and end up diving into the lake nearly in-sync.

The water is cold, but Billy has grown up swimming in the Pacific, so it doesn’t really bother him. When he dives underwater, closing his eyes in the murky water and just staying still for a moment, he feels like he just hit pause on the world. _God_ , he likes swimming.

He’s torn from the moment by Robin yanking him up by his shoulders. 

“What’d you do that for?”, he frowns when they emerge. He pushes his hair out of his face.

“You were underwater for more than a minute, asshole,” Robin chasitices. “I thought you died.”

He just laughs. 

They end up tossing a football around in the water, excluding Nancy, Jane, and Mike -- the former because she had taken to swimming far out into the lake and the latter two because they were busy being all cute and shit --, and it turns out that for a guy who looks like he could barely lift more than one Encyclopedia, Jonathan has a hell of an arm. Lucas couldn’t catch the ball if his life depended on it.

“Nice,” Steve grins after one of Billy’s more successful throws and Billy makes the mistake of looking over, which puts him completely off of the game for nearly ten whole seconds.

The thing is, Steve is always gorgeous. Billy can mostly handle that now, is used to it enough to not stare and can actually speak to him normally, but when his hair is dripping in his face and forming drops that teeter down his chest and glisten in the sunlight, Billy’s brain completely shuts off. His skin is just the right side of pale after the long Hawkins winter, scattered with just a dusting of dark hair and a constellation of freckles and moles. He’s strong and defined, but still lean, graceful. And as if he isn’t pretty enough with all that going on, he has these wide strong shoulders, and Billy thinks his heart just might give out with the way the muscles move under them. When he looks back up at Steve's face -- which is also wholly unfair, _fuck_ \-- he finds those Bambi eyes watching him with a look that’s a little bit of bashful and a whole lot of illegible.

He vaguely registers Max call his name, but doesn’t manage to tear his eyes from Steve’s until she’s shouting it for the third time.

Billy barely manages to catch her throw.

\------

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I might actually miss Indiana.”

Robin says this a few hours later, lying on her stomach on her towel and eating grapes. She’s still in her swimming stuff -- a sports bra and workout shorts, both black, obviously --, but it’s mostly dry now. They’ve all been lounging in the sun for over an hour, though the kids have taken to playing volleyball a few yards over.

“Me too,” Nancy concurs, sitting up on the towel she was just laying on. Jonathan mumbles his agreement from where he’s still lying next to her.

“Have you decided where you’re going, Robin?”, Billy wonders out loud. He knows that she’s applied to a number of schools out of state, but was thus far undecided.

Robin shrugs. “Not quite. Probably Portland though.”

Billy huffs a small laugh. “Nice, very grunge.”

“Right?”, Robin laughs. “I think I might like it there.”

They all listen to the kids over yonder for a moment. Dustin and Mike and shouting at each other, no surprise there.

“Where are you going, Billy?”, Nancy asks then. “Have you heard back from schools?”

“Yeah, uh-” Billy swallows. “I’m still deciding between Purdue and Stanford.”

She perks up. “You got into Stanford?”

Billy nods a little sheepishly.

They all congratulate him animatedly, even Steve, as if Stanford isn’t 2,300 miles and a 35 hour drive away. That thought both excites and scares him. He could get out of Hawkins and go back to Cali, back to the beach and his mom and his _home_ , but that would mean leaving everything he’s come to love behind. It would mean leaving Hopper and Jane, and the Byers, and Robin and _Steve_. Does he really want to be 2,300 miles away from Steve?

Not that Steve has told him where he’s going in fall yet. “I don’t wanna jinx anything,” he’d said back in January. “I need to figure out where I can even get in first.” While grades might be close to abysmal, Steve tends to forget that he too is considered a national hero given last July and could probably get into any decent college. 

Billy’s about to bring it up again when a loud shout from the kids makes them look up and watch the ball fly into the trees and disappear.

“What the _fuck_ , Max,” Lucas is saying somewhere between awe and exhasperation. 

Mike is more deadpan in his delivery of “you do know you’re just supposed to get it over the net, right?”

They argue over who should get it for way too long until Steve gets up with a sigh. 

“I’ll get it,” he announces, already heading to the small woods.

Billy gets up too. “I’ll come.”

Steve gives him a bemused smile. “Think I can’t handle fetching a damn volleyball, Hargrove?”

“Oh, I know you can’t.”

He dodges Steve’s shove, which only results in Steve trying harder to give it to him.

Billy laughs and jogs ahead into the trees, letting out a _manly_ \-- thank you very much -- shriek and breaking out into a run when Steve matches his pace.

Running from Steve with a laugh bubbling in his chest, dodging trees and roots, Billy feels like a full-fledged child. Abruptly, he skids to a stop with the realization that he feels _free._ Here and now, on his nineteenth birthday being showered with thoughtful gifts on a fucking beach, he feels all the hurt and anger that have ruled his life for nearly a decade give way to a pure joy that he hasn’t felt since his mom left. He’s had happy moments, of course, especially since July, but they’ve never felt this intense, this unconditional. He’s still fucked in the head, always will be to an extent, but Billy realizes that _he’ll be okay_. 

He turns to tell Steve, but when the brunet skids around that last birch tree Billy had stopped at, he topples right into Billy. Or on top of him, rather. Okay, so Billy really could’ve anticipated that outcome with the sudden way he stopped.

Now, they’re both on the ground. Luckily, Steve had managed to put his arms out in front of him so that he didn’t crush Billy, and apart from a dull ache in Billy’s tailbone neither of them seem at all injured. The downside of this is that with Steve’s arms on either side of his head and his body hovering only inches above his own, Billy finds himself frozen and staring at Steve’s face.

_Fuck_ , he’s pretty.

The most gorgeous thing Billy’s ever seen, really.

He needs to get a fucking grip and make himself move, but strangely, Steve doesn’t seem to want to move either. They’re just staring, blue on brown and brown on blue. An ocean meeting a shore.

Billy can’t help the way his eyes flicker down to Steve’s lips, which is definitely painfully obvious. Steve swallows, Billy prepares to be punched. Instead, Steve’s eyes flicker down to his own.

_Holy fucking shit_. 

He could have this. He could actually have this. 

Billy’s about two milliseconds away from claiming it when a crow squawks loudly from where it’s perched on a low branch of the birch tree. He had no idea crows could squawk that loud, curses it out in his head.

Regardless of what he thought, the sound is loud enough to break whatever was going on -- Billy doesn’t dare define it as anything right now -- and Steve suddenly pulls back from Billy, gets up. He brushes the dirt off his hands and then holds his right one out for Billy to grab. He does.

They share an awkward silence for a beat. Billy doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“The, uh-”, Steve clears his throat. “The ball should be somewhere back there.” He motions over Billy’s right shoulder.

“Yeah, let’s get that.” His voice doesn’t quite come out the way it usually does.

The ball turns out to be nowhere near where Steve had motioned.

\------

They head back to Hawkins around five-thirty. 

The other beach guests have cleared out and the group is long out of food. The sun has begun to hang a little low. Dustin says his mom is making pulled pork for dinner, so he absolutely needs to be home by six thirty.

The Wheelers, the Byers, and Jane all pile into Jonathan’s Ford. Hopper will be with the Byers tonight anyway, so Jane will undoubtedly sleep over at their house. Considering that Nancy probably is too, Billy has a sneaking suspicion that Mike will also be staying over despite Hopper’s protests.

Robin drives Lucas, Max, and Dustin home, refusing Steve’s offer to lighten her load. They share a few hushed words that Billy can’t overhear, but Robin’s wink at him later gives him an idea of what it was about. He has to actively stop his brain from overthinking the whole thing to a point of a panic attack.

When he loads stuff into the trunk of the Beemer with Steve, he offers to drive. Steve had nearly fallen asleep on the blanket earlier and did not yet seem to be fully awake. 

“What? Why?”, Steve asks. “I can drive.” 

He follows this with a yawn and Billy laughs. “Sure you can. Get in the passenger side, sleepyhead.”

Steve doesn’t argue again, and when Billy looks over the center console only ten minutes into the drive, Steve is asleep.

This is good partly due to the fact that Steve looks absolutely adorable when he sleeps and this gives Billy unlimited access to the sight of him sleeping in the golden light of a sunset, and partly due to the fact that this gives Billy time to think.

What was that earlier? Did he imagine it or did Steve want to kiss him too? Was Steve even into guys? If he was, why would Steve be into _him_? It baffled him enough that Steve wanted to be such good friends with, but to be more than that, with a guy that had beat him senseless and hurt more people than he could count, is that something Steve could want? He’s getting ahead of himself, he doesn’t even know if that’s what that was. That Moment.

Billy has a lot more questions than answers, so instead of spiraling into those and coming up with more empty hands, he tries to list the things he does know.

Steve isn’t gay. Bisexual, maybe. Straight, more likely. Either way, he’d been thoroughly in love with Nancy Wheeler and hasn’t shown any previous interest in guys. Then again, neither has Billy, openly at least.

Steeling himself not to be too self-deprecating, Billy then tries to find reasons or clues of Steve’s liking him. First off, even with gnarly scars all over his torso, Billy knows that he’s objectively attractive. He has the eyes and the ass and the jaw, so that’s one thing he has going for him. Also, if one really was to look past everything pre-July 1985 -- God forbid, how could anyone --, he’s a decent guy. Sure, he has occasional fits of anger and is a bit of an ass a lot of the time, but that isn’t too bad for a nineteen year old gay kid that had an abusive childhood. He’s friends with Steve, they get along well, and he makes him laugh every now and then.

None of this amounts even close to deserving Steve Harrington.

But does Steve even want him? What was that charged moment in the woods?

The fact is, that it had been a Moment. Steve had been effectively laying on top of him and their intense eye contact was already an incentive to make the moment a Moment. And Billy is 97% sure that he wasn’t imagining the way Steve’s eyes flickered to his lips. There’s not really a hetereosexual platonic way to read that, is there?

And if, hypothetically, Steve _did_ want to be with Billy, he would have to stay in Indiana. He wouldn’t even hesitate to give up Stanford for Steve, but he’s read enough novels and seen enough movies to see that that might haunt him later, trap him in the American Midwest. His mom is waiting for him in San Francisco now too. Billy wouldn’t feel all that guilty on her behalf, it would be more than silly given the circumstances of their relationship, but it was still something he hoped for, a life with her in it. 

Then again, even if Steve didn’t want to be with him like that, he still might stay in Indiana, assuming that’s where Steve is going. He’s being annoyingly secretive about his college plans to Billy, though he thinks Steve’s most likely confided in Robin, which stings just a bit.

Only time will tell, Billy guesses, though this doesn’t stop him from continuing to overthink it.

Caught in his thoughts and driving into Hawkins on autopilot, Billy is almost surprised when he pulls to a stop in front of the Harrington house. 

The building and landscaping look impeccable as ever due to Steve and the gardening staff, and Billy wonders how long it’s been since Steve’s parents were here to see it, to see their son. It’s cruel, really. It’s possibly not even quite legal.

Billy looks over to his right and presses the horn. Steve jumps.

“Morning, sunshine,” Billy chides. “Sleep well?”

“Before you did that, yeah. Fine.” Steve takes a moment to collect his bearings. “Shit. Did I sleep the whole way?”

Billy nods and pulls the key out of the ignition. 

“Wow, I did not realize I was that tired.”

“Didn’t sleep well last night?”, Billy asks. They’re all traumatized, have nightmares, and Steve is no exception.

“Yeah. It’s not the upside down shit, though,” Steve clarifies. “Just regular stuff.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Billy doesn't press just as Steve never does. 

They head inside and Steve immediately goes to order some pizza while Billy gets some beers out of the fridge. Steve is running more than a little low on groceries because he’s always too lazy to get some.

They go into the living room, Steve puts on the _Wham!_ tape, and they end up on the sofa sipping their beers. Neither of them can refrain from singing along when Track 1 turns out to be _Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go_ , and Billy all but cackles at Steve’s attempts to hit the high note.

“It’s not my fault I can’t keep with fucking George Michael,” Steve argues through his own laughter. “The guy’s a God.”

“A God?”, Billy teases with a quirk of his eyebrows. “Didn’t know you had such a hard on for George Michael, pretty boy.” He doesn’t quite know where the flirty courage comes from, but it feels something like slipping into an old skin. It’s the only way he got Steve’s attention in senior year.

Steve scoffs. “You’re trying to tell me you _don’t_ have a hard on for George Michael? Have you ever, like, looked at him? Seen him _move_?”

Billy’s throat feels dry. He feels like Steve just took a leap, crossed a line, so he takes the jump too. “Sure, he’s hot, but I’ve always been more of an Andrew guy.”

“Huh.” Steve takes another swing of his beer, looking contemplative. “Okay, but have you seen George smile?”

And then they’re arguing about which Wham! member is hotter and Billy from a year ago becomes such ancient history that Billy begins to doubt he ever existed. He wouldn’t even know how to explain to that Billy how he’s on Steve Harrington’s sofa debating the hotness of two male pop singers on his nineteenth birthday. 

Steve argues animatedly, as though he’s thought about this before -- Billy definitely has -- and is talking about George Michael like a teenage girl. Look, Billy really doesn’t wanna suck his own dick here and claim that he looks nearly as good as George Michael does, but they share the blond mullet and dangly earring look, and Billy _really_ hopes that this is how Steve flirts.

He makes sure to mention Andrew’s brown Bambi eyes.

\-----

About an hour later, the pizzas long eaten and Billy three beers in, Steve interrupts a small silence they’ve lapsed into by requesting that Billy wait a moment.

He gets up from the sofa and disappears into the hall. His footsteps are audible on the stairs a moment later.

Billy picks at the label of his bottle and waits, wondering how to make a move, if he should make a move. Steve’s been a bit more flirty than usual and he certainly talked about George Michael in a not very straight way, but then Billy also really doesn’t want to read this wrong and ruin the best thing he’s had probably ever.

_Make It Big_ is back on Track 3, _Heartbeat_ , as they’d restarted it when the tape ended. Billy tries to focus less on his indecision and more on the music.

When Steve reappears a moment later, he sits back down on the sofa and hands Billy a sizable envelope. “I said there was a part two to your present. There it is.” 

“There didn’t need to be a part two,” Billy tells him.

“Yeah, well, there is.”

Billy shakes his head, but opens the envelope curiously and pulls out two glossy rectangles that he recognizes are concert tickets. He glances at the black font.

_Whamerica! Tour 1986_

_Oakland, CA - Alameda County Stadium_

_08.00 pm_

_September 1, 1986_

With a look conveying something between confusion and awe, he looks up the brunet.

“Holy shit. This is awesome.”

Steve grins. “That’s why I needed you to admit you liked Wham!.”

Billy looks back down at the tickets, reads them over. "Steve," he starts slowly. "This show is in Oakland."

"Yeah," Steve breathes out. He's chewing on his lip with a sheepish nervosity.

"What?", Billy muses, "Indiana was all sold out?"

Steve takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his hair, which is floppy from air drying product-less after the lake. "I didn't want to tell you because I wasn't sure I'd get in, but, uh-" He swallows. "I got into San Francisco State. And I wanna go to Cali. With you."

For a moment Billy just blinks. "Are you serious?"

Steve nods. He's fiddling with the strings of his hoodie.

Overcome with two years of bottled up magnetism and 99.87% sure he's at least a little bit in fucking love with Steve Harrington, Billy drops the tickets to the carpet and pulls Steve's face to his and kisses him full on the mouth.

For a excruciating moment, Steve is frozen beneath his fingertips and Billy thinks he must have imagined their moment earlier and that now he's royally fucked everything up, but then Steve is fisting a hand into his curls and all but lifting Billy onto his lap, and _holy shit_ he thinks he might pass out.

All the pieces of the wreck they make up together fall right into place. It’s the best fucking kiss he’s ever had.

Steve kisses like he does everything, wholeheartedly, no bullshit, with everything he has. His lips are soft, almost as soft as the hair Billy begins carding his fingers through, but they’re by no means docile and respond to Billy’s with a vigor that he could only ever dream up. 

He can’t help the frankly embarrassing sound that escapes his lips when Steve tugs at his hair a bit too roughly, and Steve laughs a bit against his mouth, the damn tease. Billy takes this as an opportunity to nuzzle under Steve’s jaw and place hot, open-mouthed kisses on his neck. He draws a whine from the brunet when he bites that mole he’s always wanted to. It leaves a red mark when he pulls back, and Billy thinks that alone might be the single hottest thing he’s ever seen. Fuck _Blueboy_ , he just gave Steve fucking Harrington a hickey.

Steve pulls him back in for another kiss and Billy no longer thinks he’s in love with Steve Harrington, he’s damn sure of it. He knows him better than he knows himself sometimes, knows all his flaws and his brattiness.

The thing is, Steve is childish and impulsive and cares too much for his own good. He gets drunk off of two beers and snaps when he’s tired, gives shitty people way too many chances and picks fights he can’t win. He knows exactly how to push Billy’s buttons and seems to get a rise out of being difficult whenever the situation allows it, demanding good where there isn't any to be found. He throws pity parties and temper tantrums and pouts when he doesn’t get his way. He gets under Billy’s skin more than anyone in the world, and yet Billy is desperately, irrevocably in love with him.

He considers telling him that right there, right then for a moment, but figures that he probably shouldn’t say that for the first time while he’s rucking Steve’s crop top up to his shoulders. They separate for a moment so that Billy can pull it off over his head. His hands are shaking. 

The phone rings from where it’s attached to the wall, but neither of them move. _Freedom_ is playing now, Track 5, and Billy listens for a moment.

_But you know that I forgive you, just this once, twice forever_

_‘Cause, baby, you could drag me to hell and back just as long as we’re together_

He looks down at Steve, trying to catch his breath . It has somewhat of the opposite of that effect. Those gorgeous Bambi eyes stare back at him, pupils blown wide, strands of messy hair falling into them. Steve’s lips are kiss swollen and there’s an exquisite blush going from his cheeks all the way down to his heaving chest. 

“ _Fuck_ , you’re gorgeous.” Billy’s not usually the type to say anything of the sort, but it comes out of his mouth now before he can even think to stop it.

Steve looks genuinely surprised and a little bashful. He opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish and eventually just decides to pull Billy back in for another kiss.

It’s slower now, more deliberate, and if Billy wasn’t putty in Steve’s hands before then he is now. No one has ever kissed him like this, like he’s fragile, breakable. He feels vulnerable and exposed, but finds that he doesn’t mind that because it’s worth it for this feeling. 

_If we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ideal of being known._

His mother had written that for him years ago, as if knowing he would struggle with it. She was right, but he got the hang of eventually.

The phone rings again then, somehow more insistently.

Steve pulls back with a groan. “Whoever’s calling needs to learn how to read a fucking room.”

Billy laughs. “I don’t know if that’s how phones work, pretty boy.”

Steve’s eyes soften. “You’ve been calling me that for years,” he points out.

There’s no purpose in being cryptic anymore, so Billy just shrugs. He wants to put all of his cards on the table and see which ones Steve picks up. “Well you didn’t just turn pretty yesterday.”

The red of Steve’s cheeks deepens. “I can’t believe I was so caught up in being straight that I didn’t notice your massively obvious crush on me.”

Billy laughs again. “Guess I wasn’t as enigmatic as I hoped.”

“Nah, but it still took me long enough.”

“Tell me about it.”

And then they’re kissing again. Steve begins to undo Billy’s shirt buttons, reaches the fourth before the phone rings _again._ Billy considers ignoring it, but then, as much as he tries to deny it for the sake of the fact that he’s kissing Steve Harrington, remembers that interdimensional monsters exist and it might be an important call. 

Billy forces himself to pull back. “I’m gonna get that, and if it’s not a 911 sort of emergency then I will be back on your lap _pronto."_

Steve pouts, because of course he does, but nods and lets go of Billy’s shirt.

“Hello?” Billy usually answers the phone more cordially, but he can’t possibly bring himself to care right then.

“Billy, good, it’s you.” The voice sounds a bit exhausted.

“Hopper?”

“Yeah, uh-” Hopper sighs. “You might wanna come by Hawkins General. Your mom had a run-in with Neil.”

Turns out that interdimensional monsters were not the kind he needed to be worried about.

\----

my brilliant incredible showstopping best friend [red](https://hi-im-red.tumblr.com/) made this beautiful rendition of will's art for billy. everyone go say thank you.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's what we like to call a cliffhanger, babey.
> 
> i like to think that in this alternate universe billy is celebrating his 53rd birthday with his husband steve today. so, happy quarantine birthday, turns out they can be kind of lovely :)
> 
> aLSO: apologies, i've been super super careful about historical, geographical, and sometimes even slang accuracy, but i did allow myself one single slip in that i moved the whamerica! tour from 1985 to 1986. the date and venue and all are unchanged, i just tweaked the year. soz.


	9. Healing (Donna)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fucking shit. i am so so so sorry. i clearly hit a wall with this story and totally abandoned you guys, which is the last thing i wanted to do.
> 
> i hope you remember enough to enjoy this chapter anyway and the fluff makes up for my absence just a bit.
> 
> <3

Donna wakes slowly at first, then all at once.

Her head is pounding. That’s the first thing that registers in her mind.

The second is that she’s sat partly upright in an unfamiliar bed, the sheets stiff over her dry skin.

It takes her a moment to remember where she is and why. The last time she was awake, there was a nurse bandaging her wrist and a doctor asking too many questions that her aching head couldn’t quite answer. She still feels the weight of the bandage on her left arm, though the pounding in her head has thankfully subsided a bit.

Damn Neil. She hopes he rots in hell.

There’s an unsurprising quiet, steady beep to her left and a familiar whirr of air vents above her, but she is surprised to make out what is unmistakably the sound of breathing to her right. She’s not alone in the room.

Trying to ignore the pain it induces, Donna pries open her eyes to the dimmed white overhead light and turns her head to see who it is.

Part of her assumed that it would be a doctor or nurse, maybe even law enforcement, but the two chairs against the wall are occupied by Billy and Steve. Her heart swells.

The latter is in a patterned fleece zipped all the way up, though the room isn’t even that cold, while Billy wears a thin navy sweater that looks incredibly preppy and doesn’t quite fit him right. They both look adorable and sleepy with Billy’s head on Steve’s shoulder.

She can’t quite believe her eyes. Neil might still be a piece of shit with anger issues, but she has her son back. They have each other for the fall out.

She watches as Steve’s eyes open a moment later, groggily. He carefully lifts his head from where it was resting on Billy’s and blinks to adjust to the light, his eyes widening when he registers Donna’s looking back at him. He smiles.

“Hey,” she croaks softly, her voice rough and dry from lack of use. 

Steve’s grin widens. “Hey.”

He elbows Billy lightly into the ribs and shrugs his shoulder, waking Billy into grumbling a ‘fuck off.’ Both Steve and Donna chuckle.

“C’mon B,” Steve tries again. “Your mom’s awake.”

At that, Billy frowns and sits up, rubbing at his face and tired eyes. They brighten when he catches sight of his mother on the bed, hurting, but awake.

He’s by her bedside in a moment. “How’re you feeling?”

Instead of answering, Donna makes a move to reach out for the water. Billy catches on immediately and unscrews it for her, placing it in her hand.

She shoots him a grateful smile and takes a few relieving sips. “Better than ever,” she answers then in a lame attempt at a joke.

It makes Billy smile nonetheless. “I’m sure.”

They sit in silence for a beat, just smiling at each other in an unfamiliar, but welcome warmth. Steve mumbles something about the vending machines and slinks out of the room quietly, though she doesn’t miss the way his smiling eyes linger on Billy by her bedside.

The door closes behind him with a soft click.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Billy says suddenly. His voice is a little choked and he refuses to meet Donna’s eyes. “We should’ve warned you and kept him out of the way, or just been so much more careful, I just-”

“Hey.” Donna interrupts him by placing her right, unbandaged hand on his cashmere-clad forearm. “None of this is your fault, sunshine. I should’ve been more careful myself, I just didn’t second-guess stopping for gas on my way out of town. There’s nothing you could have done. Your being here now is more than enough for me, really. Besides, I’m fine. My injuries’ll heal up in no time.”

Billy looks up at her with a smile, but the furrow of his brow remains. “I just hoped maybe I could protect you this time around. God knows, I couldn’t then.” He finishes with a sad little laugh.

“Billy,” she asserts, “you’re my  _ son _ . I should be protecting you, not the other way around. I’m the one who failed here.”

There are voices outside the door now, but neither of them move to acknowledge them.

“Well,” Billy swallows, his voice small, “if I had protected you then, maybe you wouldn’t have left.”

Donna is dumbfounded for a moment. Then, stealing herself with a shaky breath, says, “ _ Bullshit _ .”

With a teary, but amused, smile, Billy looks up.

“I left because I was a coward, and I was out of my own mind, and I never would’ve anticipated Neil leaving with you. You were the only thing that made me stay as long as I did, and I can’t regret my time with him even now, because you came out of it. You were my saving grace, Billy, my pride and joy, not the reason I left.”

Billy’s smile widens a tad and he huffs out a watery, little laugh. “I still wish I could’ve kept him from hurting you.”

“And I wish I could’ve kept him from hurting you.”

The frown returns to Billy’s face along with a flash of something painful in his eyes, but before he can open his mouth, the door to their left opens.

A doctor strides in, one Donna vaguely remembers from the first time she awoke, followed by Steve and Hopper. The latter isn’t even in uniform, though his badge is haphazardly pinned to the chest pocket on his colorful shirt.

“I tried to tell them you needed a moment,” Steve explains a little frustratedly, “but-”

“But we need to do our job.” The doctor sounds exasperated, at the end of his rope. 

Hopper gives Donna a tight, but kind smile.

The man in the coat, who introduces himself as Dr. Ortland, comes up to her bedside and jots down the values from the screen beside her. He asks her a few basic questions about her pain level and comfort. She answers honestly.

“Well,” he sighs eventually, “you got lucky, Mrs. Richardson. Your concussion wasn’t severe and your wrist is only fractured, but we’re gonna have to keep you here until Monday morning, at least. Tuesday if we think you need it.”

Donna just nods a little helplessly. It puts a damper on her plans to get back to California, and she knows she needs to call Phil and let him know that she can’t watch Lucy, but there’s no use in arguing with a medical professional. She can handle two nights just fine, anyhow.

Hopper steps forward then, looking heavy as he sighs and opens his mouth. “Neil is in custody,” he explains. The question was hanging in the room, so she didn’t have to ask it. “We’re trying to build a case against him, and with his history with Billy and the fact that there were five witnesses to your assault, we’re pretty confident we can. If we’re lucky we can actually give him a year of jail time.”

Donna is silent for a moment, lets the words hang in the air and eventually sink in. “Holy shit,” she breathes out eventually.

“Right?”, Billy smiles. He looks cautiously hopeful, like he thinks his father might finally be brought to justice but doesn’t quite want to let himself believe it.

Steve looks over at the pair with a triumphant grin. “We’ll get him, I know it.”

“Oh yeah, Harrington? You gonna try and fight him again?”, Billy counters smugly.

Steve sticks his tongue out at Billy while Donna lets out a startled laugh that makes her head throb a bit. She’ll have to remember to ask for the details of that incident later.

Now though, she has to give Hopper the details of that afternoon, which still feels like something that didn’t quite happen to her. It feels removed from what her life really is now, and makes her feel like she’s travelled back in time a decade. This time around though, Donna won’t let Neil get away with anything without a fight.

Billy, Steve, and Dr. Ortland leave the room to give her and Hopper some privacy, but Billy assures her that he’ll be right back, that he’s not going anywhere. It makes talking about Neil a little easier.

Hopper is patient with her. She struggles through the recount a bit, both because her head is still hurting a bit and because there’s a stigma of fear surrounding anything Neil related, but the Chief lets her pause when she needs to and asks all the right questions with just the right tone of voice. 

He only takes about ten minutes of her time, by the end of which she feels a little lighter. 

“You’re brave for doing this,” he tells her as he closes his notepad and sticks it in his breast pocket behind his badge. “Men like Neil Hargrove are a dime a dozen, but they sure are hard to pin down.”

Donna smiles. “Thank you for doing this.”

“Of course.”

Hopper gets up from where he was beside her bed, wipes his hands on his pants, and exits the room with a promise to do all he can to persecute Neil for being the ass he is. It makes her chuckle.

Dr. Ortland and an unfamiliar nurse come in just a few moments later and jot down values from the machines around her. She’s told that what she needs above all is rest, which she resents for how much she likes being on her feet.

And as the medical professionals turn to leave, Billy appears in the open doorway with a knock. His lips quirk in a sheepish smile.

“I know visiting hours are over,” he says, “but the Chief gave me forty-five minutes, and he’s law enforcement, so…”

Dr. Ortland looks unimpressed and gives Billy a blank stare, but his shoulders eventually sag a bit. “I’m giving you thirty.”

Billy grins. “Thank you.”

The door closes behind the doctor and nurse with a click, and then it's just them in the room. Her and her son. The whirring of the air vents has intensified in the last few minutes, but the air feels somehow stuffier than ever.

“I forced Steve to go home and get some sleep,” Billy explains, “but I wanted to see you again before I left for the night.”

There’s an undetermined something hanging in the air between them. What does one talk about after ending on such a heavy note?

“Did you have a good birthday?”, Donna tries. 

The tension in the room loosens along with some of the tension on Billy’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” he breathes, reclaiming his spot in the creaky chair by her bedside. “Really good.”

“Tell me about it.”

Billy does. He tells her about the blueberry pancakes and clumsily wrapped walkman from Hopper. About the too-hot coffee, and the reluctance of Hop and Jane to tell him what he’s getting dressed for. He sends her a warm smile and a ‘thank you’ when he speaks of opening her gift, reading all the little notes and looking at the photos. He apologizes for not yet having read the letters, but Donna shuts it down immediately. She had given them to him years too late, anyhow.

Then Billy tells her about how Steve had picked him up, pausing to coo at the photos of his child-self, and then ‘kidnapped’ him for a forty minute drive. Donna has to chuckle at the image of an annoyed Billy with his eyes covered, clueless as to where he is going.

“But then before Steve uncovered my eyes, I already heard the kids talking, ‘cause of course they were arguing when they were supposed to be surprising me,” he deadpans, “and then it turns out that they had set up this whole big picnic hangout on an honest-to-God  _ beach _ -”

Donna interrupts him then. “A beach? There are beaches within a forty minute radius from here?”

Billy laughs. “Right? I mean it was nothing like the beaches back in Cali, obviously, it was just some sand by a lake, but it was still a beach.”

She smiles and bids him to continue. Billy is a great storyteller, always has been, which Donna painfully notes is a fact that she had almost forgotten. She thinks he gets it from his grandmother.

Apart from one male nurse who claimed to have had the wrong room, the pair are uninterrupted as Billy continues to tell his mother about the day at the beach, and she laughs and comments in all the right places. Donna is so incredibly glad that he had the birthday he did, with the people he had it with, and that she gets to listen to his voice when he mocks Dustin, and watch the light in his eyes and the swift gesticulation of his hands. Even if it is from a hospital bed.

There’s a palpable shift in Billy’s tone and demeanor when he recalls leaving the group and driving back to Steve’s with the man in question asleep beside him in the passenger seat. His voice quiets just a tad, and a cautious note laces its way between the letters, though there’s a subtle joy underlining every word. Donna can’t even imagine how tiring having to hide a heart like that is, especially if it’s a heart as great and feeling as Billy’s.

“You know how Steve said he had another gift for me later when he gave me that Wham! Tape in the car?”, Billy asks her after a moment in which he was clearly struggling for the right words.

Donna just nods.

“Well that second present was tickets to their show in September. In Oakland.”

“September.” She can’t help the grin on her face at the implication of the month. 

Billy nods, his own expression beginning to mirror hers. “Steve got into San Fran State, so I’ll be going to Stanford.”

Donna cheers and Billy lets himself go, lets the joy she could see bubbling beneath the surface rise up through his skin and materialize in the form of a wide grin and a belting laugh. She hugs him to the best of her ability, pulling him down to wrap her good arm around his shoulders. He leans into it.

She cradles his face as he pulls back. “That’s amazing, Billy. I’m so proud of you.”

Billy looks down and pulls away, but smiles a genuine smile and thanks her. “I’m just really glad to get back to where there’s a damn  _ In-N-Out _ ,” he huffs. “Indiana burgers just ain’t the same.”

“That’s probably true,” Donna chuckles. Then, noting the deliberate diversion his comment was, circles back. “But you’re allowed to be proud of yourself, sunshine. Or at least let other people be proud of you. Stanford in a damn good school and you’re allowed to let yourself be genuinely happy about coming back to California. With Steve.”

Billy takes a deep breath, looking momentarily overwhelmed. “Thanks, Mom.” His eyes flick up to meet hers for just a moment. “I’m working on it.”

“That’s the important part.”

Another silence stretches between them, this one more significant than every last. As it grows, so does the heaviness Donna can feel radiating off of her son. She wants to lift it from him, but knows that any wrong step could drive it back inside from where its pouring through his skin and reaching for air and light. It needs to get out, but it needs to do so on his terms, so she waits.

The air in the room feels heavy. The air vents quiet.

Just when Donna begins to think that it was a false alarm and Billy might make another joke to ease the tension or just bid her goodbye alltogether, he takes a deep, rattling breath and leans back a bit in his chair. He looks up at her briefly, but focuses his attention on the wringing of his hands.

“Mom?”

Donna hums quietly.

“I, uh-” Billy swallows, runs a hand through his hair. “I know I just got you back and I should really be doing everything I can to keep you from abandoning me this time around-”

And look, she had sworn not to interrupt him when he’s getting things off his chest, but she can’t help opening her mouth at his defeated statement. “Billy-”

“No, Mom, just-”, he huffs, “Just let me finish.”

Reluctantly, and with a pointed look, Donna shuts up.

“I know I should be happy to have you at all, and  _ I am _ , I really am, but I just don’t know if I -- No, scratch that, -- I  _ know _ that I don’t want to have a mom that I have to hide anything from, hide myself from.”

Donna watches him with a steady gaze, letting him take a few breaths and noting the furrow of his brow and the clench of his jaw. She refrains from reaching out and smoothing the folds on his forehead.

“I’m gay.” Billy’s voice is strong, forceful, determined, even as he continues in a ramble that Donna refuses to interrupt.

“And I’m done pretending that I’m not, to the people that matter at least, and if that’s not something you’re willing to accept, then we don’t need to be in touch. I’ve had enough shit from Neil, I don’t need it from you, or anyone else. ‘Cause for what little it’s worth, I’m still your son. I’m still me. Just more honestly.”

He still refuses to meet her eyes, so she lays a gentle hand on his. “I know that.”

“You’re okay with it?” He does look up then, eyes glassy, but bright. 

“Of course,” she says as sincerely as she can. “And I’m so glad  _ you  _ are. The world’s gonna throw some bricks at you -- God, I’m sure Neil already has --” (Billy mumbles something that sounds dangerously like ‘literally’) “but if there’s one thing I’ve always known you to have it’s the ability to tell the world to shove it.”

He huffs a little laugh.

“And I love you, Billy. Okay? No matter what. I just want you to be happy.”

A tear falls from Billy’s lashes as he looks back up at her, and he quickly wipes it away with the sleeve of his sweater. He squeezes her hand between both of his.

A short silence ensues as Billy tries to gather his thoughts, and she lets him. “That was a pretty good speech,” he quips eventually, “did you write it down first?”

Donna’s not even surprised that he’s following his confession with a joke. It’s effective in loosening the tension in the room a bit.

“Actually,” Donna smiles, “I have had some time to think about it.”

Billy frowns at her, a question in his eyes.

“I honestly suspected you might be gay, even when you were a kid, but I kind of figured it out being here now. The way you look at Steve isn’t exactly subtle,” she adds with a teasing lilt to her voice.

Billy laughs a watery laugh and has the gall to look sheepish. “Fuck.”

She laughs again. “It’s okay, he looks at you like that too.”

Billy says nothing, but bites his lip to keep the wide grin she sees dancing around his face from settling on it.

“But you knew that already,” Donna realizes out loud.

“Not really,” he argues, but the grin settles. 

She gives Billy a look.

“I’m not talking about this with my mom!”, he tells her exasperatedly. His expression still betrays him.

Donna can’t help but pry. She missed out on so many years of teasing her son, and she sure as hell isn’t backing down from the opportunity now. “But you’re together?”

“What? No!” A beat. “Or, maybe? I don’t know.” At Donna’s baiting expression, he gives  _ her _ a pointed look. “Maybe I’d know more if we hadn’t been interrupted by a call to come here.”

Donna sits a little stunned by this and lets out a sheepish, undignified snort. “I’m so sorry.”

“You should be.” Billy’s really bad at hiding his smiles, she realizes.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god bless parents like donna, honestly.
> 
> (ps. while i was tragically abandoning this story, i did write two one shots. if you ship stucky and/or other evanstan characters, feel free to check them out :))
> 
> pps. black lives fucking matter  
> also, happy pride month from one (1) cis bisexual to you!


	10. Breathing Out (Billy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> she back!
> 
> i had a couple long train rides and lonely coffeeshop days after my crazy graduation week, so this is the result of that. it's quite packed, but i hope it doesn't seem to thrown together or rushed.
> 
> enjoy! :)

"Have you talked to Hopper any more about your mom's case?", Steve asks, pouring noodles into boiling water.

"Not yet," Billy responds. "He was out when I woke up, at Joyce's probably, but I'll ask when I see him tomorrow."

Steve hums and busies himself with closing the packaging he had quite spectacularly ripped.

They're in Steve's kitchen, a little less than 20 hours after they kissed on the sofa just a room over. They haven't talked about it.

Billy knows they probably should. Hell, he _wants_ to talk about it if it means that Steve might want to do it again, but the small voice in his head that tells him he shouldn't get his hopes up persists, so he doesn't bring it up. Neither does Steve.

And honestly, what was Billy expecting? For Steve to profess his undying love for him as soon as he walked in the door? The prolonged hug Steve had given him was more than enough, really. After all, he still feels Steve's warmth in his chest from how it had seeped through his skin and into his body. It's in his bloodstream now, simmering and spreading throughout his whole self, so he basks in that instead of giving more attention to the traitorous voice.

"When'd you get up today?" Steve's voice pulls him out of his thoughts and Billy is thankful for the distraction, even if it does look like sex on legs in worn jeans and a plain t-shirt.

"Around noon," Billy tells him. "And you know me, I'm an early bird. The last time I slept that long was probably the hospital."

Steve nods. "Remember when you told Robin you typically get up around eight-thirty on weekends and she straight up didn't believe you?"

"Yup," Billy laughs. "That girl's sleep schedule is fucked."

"It really is." Steve heads over to the fridge. "You want a beer?"

"Sure."

Steve puts two open beers on the island in front of Billy a moment later, and then jumps up to sit on the counter with an ease that betrays just how often he does it. It's adorable, really.

"To putting Neil Hargrove in jail," Steve toasts.

Billy grins and echoes it as they clink bottles and each take a swing.

A silence overtakes the room then, and for the first time in what feels like forever, it feels awkward. It's not negative, not really, but it's heavy with an uncertainty of what to say or how to act. Picking at the label of his bottle, Billy tries to think of something, anything, to say. Seconds pass and he comes up with nothing.

"I'm bisexual."

The words come so out of nowhere that Billy half thinks that he must've hallucinated them until he looks up at Steve's face and sees it sporting a familiar blush and nervous expression. His heart stutters.

"And you might've, like, figured that, or whatever," Steve continues with a reddening complexion. "But I thought you should hear it. From me."

Billy finds himself momentarily dumbfounded, both elated by Steve's confession and so incredibly proud of him for it. He's had years to come to terms with his sexuality, and while he's made huge progress, yesterday had been the first time he'd actually uttered the words 'I'm gay' out loud. It's fucking difficult.

At Billy's lack of response, Steve finally looks up with a furrow between his brow. "You know what that is, right?"

"Yeah, pretty boy," Billy chuckles as he gets his brain back online. "I know what bisexual is." He hesitates for a moment, but then musters the courage he just watched Steve so beautifully expressed. "I'm from San Francisco and gay, so."

Steve's face lights up in a sincere, warm smile, before he turns back to where he's fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt on his lap.

Another silence settles between them then, though it's far more comfortable than the last. They're both just processing.

Billy breaks it this time around. "I actually came out to my mom yesterday."

Steve's eyes widen and he whips back up to look at Billy. "How'd it go."

"Good. Really fucking good."

"Holy shit," Steve grins. His smile is so radiant that it nearly blinds Billy for a moment. "Is she the first person you've told?"

"First person I've told, yeah. But not the first person who knows." Billy tries to sound more confident that he feels.

"Who knows?"

Billy takes another swing of his beer. "A couple guys in Cali, Max, and my dad. Susan too, presumably."

"Your dad?" Steve's voice is incredulous, which Billy figures is probably fair.

"Yeah." He swallows past a sudden lump in his throat. This isn't something he talks about ever. "It's why we moved here, actually. Max accidentally ratted me out to my old man."

"She _what_?", Steve nearly shouts. "Has she apologized?"

Billy raises a placating hand. "Yes, Steve, calm down. She has, and she's forgiven. I was a shitty brother to her for it long enough. Besides, she had no way of knowing that her telling my dad where I was would result in him walking in on me and a guy."

Steve's eyes widen almost comically then. " _He walked in on y_ -"

"Not like- Not having sex or anything," Billy quickly corrects. "We weren't even kissing right then. Just-" He gestures vaguely. "Sitting too close, I guess."

Steve looks to be struggling with what to say. He eventually settles on a determined, "Fuck that."

"Fuck that," Billy echoes.

They each take another swing of their beers.

"Who knows about you?", he finds himself asking then.

"No one, really," Steve confesses. "I mean, Robin, obviously. I didn't even know what bisexuality was until she told me. I thought there was something, like, seriously wrong with me. 'Cause I know I loved Nancy, but also I've been obsessed with you since you pulled up in that stuid Camaro beginning of senior year."

"Hey!", Billy exclaims in mock offense. "Don't call the Camaro stupid."

Steve rolls his eyes half-heartedly.

He must know that Billy's comment is a blatant evasion from everything else he said, but he lets it slide. Billy is getting better about talking about his feelings, truly, he's working on it. But how on earth would he even begin to tell Steve that he's been head over heels in love with him ever since he sauntered into Tina's shitty Halloween party with his big stupid grin and his big, warm Bambi eyes? How could he break that to the guy that he bullied, hurt, almost killed, and then somehow, miraculously, made his best friend? So, he takes the easy way out.

"I do want to tell everyone, though, before we go." Steve says this quietly, shyly, almost as though he was scared to voice it.

"Who's everyone?", Billy asks. "The whole party?"

Steve nods and Billy is forced to think about it. He'd been considering coming out for a few months now, especially since last night, but mostly only to Hopper and Jane, maybe Joyce. But the others? He knows they're all wonderful, brave, loving, beautiful people, but he also knows that they're from small town Indiana, and that gay people are not especially welcome here. He doesn't want to risk losing the only family he's ever had. Then again, does he even _have_ them if he has to hide who he really is?

"You don't have to do the same, obviously," Steve says, seemingly having sensed Billy's inner turmoil. "Hell, I might not even be able to go through with it."

"No," Billy states determinedly, surprising even himself. “We should. Both of us.”

The frown on Steve’s face dissipates and turns into light as he looks back at Billy. “Yeah?”

“Before we go,” Billy promises. He tips his bottle up at Steve in a playful gesture, and Steve meets it with his own halfway. The glass clinks again.

Another moment passes in silence. Billy vaguely remembers that the noodles are still cooking and wonders if they’re already done, but Steve opens his mouth before he can ask.

“Was he your boyfriend?”

The question comes so out of nowhere that Billy just looks at Steve with a confused frown.

“The guy your dad saw you with,” Steve clarifies. “In California.”

“Nah,” Billy answers honestly after a beat. “Never had one of those.”

“Do you want one?” Steve is resolutely looking down at his lap as he blushes, but Billy coaxes his gaze up with an expression somewhere between amused and bewildered.

He cocks his head at Steve.

“Sorry,” the brunet rushes out then. “That was a really fucking weird way to ask. I was just wondering if, maybe- I mean, only if you wanted to, obviously, I’m not gonna force you. Just, um- Would you like to be my boyfriend?”

Billy grins so wide he thinks his face might split in two. “Shit, Harrington. Play a little hard to get.”

“I’m so fucking done playing hard to get.”

And then suddenly Steve’s big, beautiful hands are on his face and Steve’s lips are on his and Billy feels the warmth left over from Steve’s hug catch on fire in his veins and set his whole body alight. Every bit of magic Billy was beginning to think he might’ve imagined yesterday returns, brighter than ever, making Billy dizzy with its intensity.

Steve’s lips move against his so smoothly, so easily, so wonderfully, that it feels like they’ve been doing this for years. They should’ve been, Billy thinks.

He pulls back just enough to press his forehead to Steve’s and squeezes his thigh with the hand that had found its way to it. “Yeah, dumbass,” he murmurs into their mingling breaths. “I’ll be your boyfriend.”

“Does that mean I get to take you on dates and shit?”, Steve murmurs back in a slightly awed voice. He’s acting like he’s the lucky one, for reasons Billy can’t quite fathom. “Cause I’ve been wanting to take you to this thing behind Kirby Road-”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

Steve does. 

They have to throw out the noodles. 

\------

The two of them visit Donna in the hospital for most of the following afternoon. She seems to know they’re together before they even say a word, but they tell her anyway.

She (jokingly?) starts planning their wedding, never mind it being illegal.

When Hopper barges in about ten minute later and announces that, with Billy’s, Donna’s, and witnesses’ testimonies, Neil is facing at least six months in jail, Billy nearly cries. Donna does.

Steve rushes out and sneaks a champagne bottle into the hospital room.

\------

Apart from that, Billy and Steve avoid everyone in the coming handful of days, locking themselves in their own little bubble of that wonderful, glowy warmth. They eat tubs of ice cream and swim in Steve's pool and drink too many beers, end up in Steve's bed more often than not. Billy comes to find that there's nothing quite like falling asleep with heavy limbs tangled in Steve's, skin to skin, when the birds begin to chirp outside. 

When Donna gets out of the hospital on Tuesday morning, they go to see her off with everyone else, of course. Nearly the whole party comes, as a matter of fact, save for the Wheelers and Dustin because they were otherwise occupied, and Donna thanks everyone so graciously one might’ve thought they’d been much nicer to her than they were.

She hugs the adults, and Steve and Robin. Billy can see her say something to Steve in a low voice, but he can’t make out what it is, though he suspects Steve will tell him later. (He doesn't.)

He hugs her goodbye longer than he ever has before and has to try his damnest not to tear up as he does so. She tells him she loves him as he pulls back, and while Billy finds that he loves her too, in his own twisted, scarred way, he can’t quite utter the words out loud, not yet. She doesn’t seem to take any offense at all to it.

“I’ll see you soon,” she says with a last, teary smile as she gets into the Allegro.

“August, at the latest,” Billy confirms.

When he watches her drive away this time, it’s with a smile on his face and a warmth in his gut.

\------ 

That Friday, Robin walks in on them making out in Steve’s pool.

Her surprise is immediately outweighed by her annoyance. “Are you gays fucking kidding me right now? How long has this been going on and why was I not informed?”

Steve looks a little sheepish, but Billy just laughs.

“Saturday,” he grins.

Robin melodramatically throws her hands up. “Seriously?! And I thought you guys couldn’t hide anything from me.” 

Billy just shrugs, still grinning, while Steve leans down to hide his flushing face where Billy’s neck meets his shoulder.

She looks at them both, still practically intertwined in the water, with a look that would be almost scary if she wasn’t wearing her hair up in an adorably wonky ponytail atop her head. “Fuck both of you. Also dry the hell off and come inside, I brought _The Goonies_.”

Billy and Steve untangle themselves just a tad reluctantly and go to dry off as Robin stalks inside. Billy unthinkingly grabs some shorts and a t-shirt from one of the tanning chairs beside the pool and throws them on.

"Hey!", Steve exclaims. "Get your own clothes!"

Billy looks down to see that he is indeed wearing Steve's clothes, which seem to be the only ones outside. He suddenly remembers leaving his own up in the bedroom. "Nah."

"I hate you." The warmth of Steve's smile negates the words considerably.

Following his boyfriend inside, Billy soon finds himself alone in the living room with Robin as Steve goes upstairs to change. 

Billy takes a seat on the sofa not occupied by Robin in what he hopes is a casual movement. Suddenly, despite his laughing confidence earlier, he feels nervous. He half expects her to start bombarding him with questions, but instead she just watches him with a thoughtful expression. Usually, Billy prides himself in his ability to read people, but Robin has always evaded this with an enigmatic ability to conceal her inner monologue entirely. 

"You're happy," she eventually says, and he's not quite sure if it's a question or not.

Billy shrugs a bit and allows his lips to quirk up at the ends. "Yeah. Not like, mentally healthy by any stretch, but yeah. I'm happy."

Robin just smiles at him with a glint in her eyes that suggests she isn't done here. He waits.

"He's been happier too, you know, since you've been around."

Billy swallows. It suddenly feels like a tremendous responsibility, to be responsible for someone else's happiness, and Billy feels the familiar urge to lash out and fuck it up arise in him. It's the easy way out, it's how he's always done things, but he insistently shuts it down. He's done with that. Making Steve happy isn't a burden, it never has been and it never will be, because Steve makes him happy too.

He looks at Robin with what he hopes is a confident look. "Then I intend to keep it that way."

Her eyes soften at the edges. "Good."

And when Steve comes back into the living room only to practically drape himself over Billy's lap, Robin just smiles.

\------

Given that Steve and Billy can’t seem to be subtle about anything, and that Jane already seems somewhat angry at Billy because she can tell he’s hiding something and ‘friends don’t lie’, he brings up a topic they haven’t breached since that first Sunday. 

They’re lying in bed, Billy over Steve’s chest, and the digital clock on the nightstand reads 01:37am, May 4th. Steve is tracing lazy circles between Billy’s shoulder blades.

“I think we should tell everyone,” Billy confesses. 

Steve’s breath stutters subtly, but enough that Billy can feel it under his cheek. “Yeah?”

Billy adjusts so that his arms are crossed on Steve’s chest and his head balances atop them. He wants to see the reactions as they come. “Yeah.”

A big hand moves up to play with Billy’s curls as Steve looks up at the ceiling in thought for a moment. His brow furrows.

“We don’t have to,” Billy clarifies. “I can just come out alone, either.” As much as he would love to do it together, he’s not about to force his boyfriend into doing something as monumental as coming out if he’s not ready.

“I know,” Steve smiles, looking back at Billy. “But I actually think maybe it’s time someone gave El and Mike a run for their money.”

“Oh yeah?”, Billy quips. “You wanna be _that_ couple?”

Steve grins. “Just can’t help myself around you, baby.”

“You’re such a fucking sap.” But Billy doesn’t resist when Steve pulls him up for a kiss, because maybe he loves it, just a bit.

\------

The May cook-out, which falls on the 10th, is at the Hopper residence. 

This means that Billy is part of the setting-up committee, and spends the majority of his day building a long contraption of a table, hauling the grill outside, and preparing dishes for a bunch of rowdy teenagers. It's exhausting, but it provides him with distraction from his anxiety, and that is something he finds he sorely needs.

Maybe this is the last time he gets to do any of this. For all he knows, he and Steve could be out of the party. Maybe Hopper will even throw him out of the house, though he tries to minimize contemplating that option. 

Whatever happens, he'll be okay. He has Steve, he has his mom, and he has California and Stanford University. None of this is to say that he wants to give up the party.

By the time the Byers' arrive an hour before the others with more plates and cutlery and a few salads, Billy is both physically and mentally exhausted. He's been running himself ragged and overthinking everything, and had only gotten about four hours of sleep the night before. Falling back asleep after nightmares is hard enough as it is, but he's grown accustomed to Steve's arms and his lips pressing to the back of his neck, and had spent the night alone in his own bed tonight. It scares him how dependent he already is on a three week relationship.

"You okay, man?", Jonathan asks him as they set the table together. 

"Yeah," Billy rasps out. "Just tired."

Jonathan has to know he's lying, but in true Byers brother form, he merely gives Billy a smile and squeezes his shoulder, a silent gesture of 'I'm here for you'. Billy eats it up.

When the Beemer pulls up with Steve, Dustin, and Robin, Billy has changed and showered and bitten his nails down to the root. His left thumb and right ring finger have bloody cuticles. 

Dustin and Robin greet him in the usual fashion, and Steve gives him the usual hug, just a few beats too long, which warms him from the inside out. As they pull back, Billy lets him know with a look that he's still all in, and Steve reciprocates. Billy lets it comfort him just a little bit.

They sit down beside each other at the table, with Robin beside Steve, and Nancy and Jonathan across from them. The kids sit around the table to Billy's left, Max directly beside him, and Hopper and Joyce sit farthest from them with Hopper at the head. It's a constellation Billy thinks he can work with.

The banter around them is typically loud and obnoxious and bright as everyone digs into the food, but Billy and Steve sit in relative silence. With the way he can hear his blood rushing in his ears and feel his heart beat erratically in his chest, Billy doesn't think he could follow a conversation if he forced himself. His leg is pressed to Steve's as tightly as it can be without being completely obvious, and Billy would worry he was hurting Steve if his boyfriend wasn't responding in kind. He thinks he can detect Steve's rapid pulse even through two layers of denim.

Billy barely manages to nod when Max asks him if he's okay, and then suddenly, with a burst of light, he remembers he'll have her too. It helps him swallow down the last of his roll.

More than an hour of anxiety later, with most of the food cleared off of the plates and the conversation around them dwindling into a quieter, more sated banter, Billy realizes that it's now or never. If he waits any longer, the table will be cleared and the group will disperse into sleepy or rambunxious or cleaning up. When he looks over at Steve, he finds those big, beautiful eyes already looking back at him.

"Guys," he tries, not quite managing to look away from Steve's face until he finishes the word. He intends to make his voice carry, demand attention, and half succeeds as his most of the table looks up at him.

Lucas and Mike, of course, have to be shushed by Jane. Joyce relaxes into her seat after looking ready to rise and start clearing plates.

"I, uh-" Billy falters, and Steve grabs his hand under the table. He latches onto it tightly. "I'm not sure you want to hear this, but I just- I need to say it regardless and hope it isn't the worst idea I've ever had, I guess."

He can feel everyone's eyes on him. They bore into his skin with looks of concern and confusion and uncertainty, and Billy almost thinks he can't do it, sees himself saying something stupid about how he likes driking milk plain and passing the whole thing off as a joke. Almost.

But then he thinks about Robin, and Max, and his mom, and California. He thinks about kissing Peter Fleming behind the bleachers at sixteen, and reading Maurice for the first time. He thinks about Steve and his warm hugs and his soft lips and that little snort he does when he's trying not to laugh. And he thinks about himself, about the shackles he's worn for so long.

"I'm gay."

It feels like breathing out.

He doesn't look up, staring resolutely at his now empty plate. The table is startlingly silent. Billy feels Steve shift beside him and presses his thigh against him more firmly so as to offer him any encouragement he can give.

"And, uh-" Steve's hand is shaking a bit, but his voice comes out strong. "I'm bisexual."

"And we're together."

Billy turns his head to look at his boyfriend and finds Steve looking back at him. Scared, proud, determined, caring. He channels it all right back to him.

Suddenly, arms wrap around him from his left and he turns to see Max's red hair all over his shoulder. "I'm so fucking happy for you," she tells him, and Billy squeezes her arm with his free hand.

"Thanks, Mad Max."

"Me too," Jane beams from across the table. “You’re cute.”

Billy feels the anxious pull in his chest loosen a little while Steve lets a long breath out beside him and leans into his side.

“Yup,” Robin adds matter-of-factly. “Obviously.” She grins at them despite her nonchalant tone.

“I’m happy for you too.”

Billy looks over to see Will with a shy grin on his face, and his heart nearly bursts. That kid is so much braver than anyone gives him credit for.

“Let me catch up,” Nancy suddenly cuts in from where she is directly across from them. “Steve, you’re gay? Seriously?”

“What? No.” Steve sits up a bit, puts the hand that isn’t holding Billy’s on the table to gesticulate. “I’m bi. I like both.”

She looks at him with a frown somewhere between incredulous and offended. “That’s not a thing, Steve. Are you just saying that to make me feel better? Because you were either pretending with me or you’re pretending with him. You can't just-”

“Woah-” Robin starts loudly, but Steve cuts her off.

“Hold up.” He’s not shouting, but his voice is raised and there’s an angry bristle to his movements. “Are you seriously accusing _me_ of faking being in love with _you_ ? ‘Cause as far as I remember it was the other way around.”

A beat of tense silence follows.

Nancy’s frenzied anger settles into an icy one, her jaw sets her eyes grow cold. No one but Jonathan, Nancy, Steve, and Billy knew about the Halloween party fight, about how badly Nancy had broken Steve’s heart. Now, everyone at the table is getting a front seat to the drama.

“Fuck you, Steve,” Nancy spouts. “At least I wasn’t lying about liking guys.” 

Steve opens his mouth to argue with her again, but she’s out of her seat and stalking toward the house before he can get a word out. Billy looks after her with a sizzling urge to punch something.

The table is set by a tense silence as everyone processes what just happened. Billy puts his and Steve’s conjoined hands on the table and grabs onto it with his left as well.

Jonathan sighs and runs a hand over his face. “I’m happy for you guys, really. I’ve got no problem with it. I’ll-” he gestures vaguely to the house behind him, and no one has to ask what he means. He gets up to find his girlfriend.

“I’m so proud of you boys.” 

Finally recovering from Nancy’s outburst, Billy looks over to where Joyce regards them with kind, warm eyes. 

Lucas is about to open his mouth from where he’s sitting beside Max, but he doesn’t even get a word out before she interrupts him.

“Lucas, if you say the wrong thing right now I’m dumping you so fucking hard,” she snaps, and Billy can’t help but huff out a little laugh.

“Um. Congrats?”

“Wait, so we’re all okay with this now?!” 

Everyone turns to Mike, the source of the outburst. He looks angry, a little confused. 

“Mike-” Jane starts, but he disregards her.

“They’re, like, going against the laws of nature,” he continues, gesticulating animatedly. “Guys don’t date. They can’t. It’s weird and wrong and honestly a little disgusting. Like-”

“Mike!”

Mike finally stops what was sure to be a long, offensive rant and looks at his girlfriend. “What? You don’t think it’s weird? Look, El, maybe you just don’t enough to-”

“I know enough to realize that you’re being an asshole and need to shut the hell up!” Her angry voice carries and stuns everyone, especially Mike, into a silence.

The crickets in the tall grass beyond the yard chirp loudly, and voices can be heard arguing inside.

“Well,” Dustin eventually pipes up. “It’s gonna take a whole lot of getting used to and shit, but I’m cool with it, I guess.” 

Steve grins. 

Billy relishes in the fact that the whole ordeal has gone reasonably well until now, seven accepting reactions and only two bad ones, but can’t quite shake the tension in his shoulders without Hopper’s reaction. The chief had been silent the whole time through, and was now staring at the table, arms crossed, leaning back in his chair.

Billy swallows. “Hop?”

With a deep sigh, Hopper looks up at Billy, and by immediate connection, Steve. “Look,” he starts. “I can’t claim to understand it. Really, I can’t. But it seems the world’s changin’ and I can’t not expect you kids to change with it.”

“So you’re okay with it,” Jane tells him. It should be a question, but the way she says it makes it sound far more like a demand.

For an excruciating moment, Hopper just looks at her. Then he uncrosses his arms and leans forward with a little smile on his face. “Yeah, sure. As long as you’re healthy and happy.”

Robin whoops, Billy grins, and Joyce grabs Hopper’s face and pulls it down to where she can kiss his scruffy cheek. He shakes his head at all of their antics, but can’t seem to shake his smile.

Billy can't quite believe it. He came out -- they came out -- and it’s okay. They still have a family. After everything with Neil, it seems like Billy had forgotten that some people were accepting, if not directly of his sexuality, of Billy. At the end of the day, he was still just him, and this group of people, this wonderful, vibrant, brave bunch he’s lucky enough to call a family, recognize that. They have his back.

Suddenly exhausted, and so, so happy, Billy lets his head fall to Steve’s shoulder and lets his heavy eyelids fall closed for a moment. Steve presses a brief kiss to his hair.

He opens his eyes a little groggily just as Hopper, with a sigh and and a touch of humor in his voice, asks, “So, any other announcements?”

Everyone looks around the table a little aimlessly for a moment.

“We’re getting a dog soon,” Lucas tries.

“Nice,” Max comments. “I got an A on my English quiz.”

“Congrats,” Robin says flatly. “I’m a lesbian.”

Before anyone else even has time to react, Billy lifts his head from Steve’s shoulder and gives her an annoyed look.

“Seriously, Robin?”, he asks jokingly, “This was our moment.”

“Eh,” she shrugs. “Without me your dumbass boyfriend wouldn’t even know he was bi.”

Billy deflates a little and drops his head back on Steve’s shoulder. “That’s fair.”

A moment passes in silence, everyone somewhere between confused and tired and exasperated. Jonathan and Nancy can no longer be heard in the house. Billy lets his eyes fall closed again.

“Can I have beer?”, Dustin cuts through the silence. He’s asking for the millionth time this month.

At least five ‘no’s ring through the yard, and Billy feels Steve's laugh all the way down to his core.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> et voila! 
> 
> there's an epilogue coming, but this is it for the main body of the story. i hope it did an okay job of wrapping the whole thing up with a happy ending. let me know what you think!
> 
> \--
> 
> ALSO: i know it may seem like the bunch are too accepting, but here’s how i figured their reactions:
> 
> max: already knows about billy and just wants him to be happy  
> robin: is gay  
> el/jane: has grown up without the social stigmas and is just an angel  
> will: is gay  
> jonathan and joyce: suspect will is gay and have had time to get used to the idea  
> nancy: (1) ted wheeler, and (2) has dated steve, bisexuality wasn’t as widely known  
> lucas: is scared of max (jk, but i imagine he’d be a bit of a pushover for her)  
> mike: (1) ted wheeler, and (2) i truly love him, but he doesn’t like change very much and can be a bit of an ass  
> dustin: a bit uncomfortable because he admires steve so much, but also admires him too much to be truly rejecting  
> hopper: basically “okay, shit, whatever.”


	11. April 19th, 1988

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no good excuse and am so so sorry. i hope those of you that are still here enjoy the fluff despite my leaving like a father, running like water.

On April 19th, 1988, Billy wakes to warmth.

For a moment, he doesn’t make any indication that he’s awake and just basks in the feeling of Steve’s chest pressed up against his back and the soft kisses he can lightly sense being pressed against the scarring on his shoulder. The linen of the duvet is pleasant on his bare legs, and the room smells like sea salt and lemongrass and Steve and home.

“Morning,” he hums a little groggily. He can feel a smile against his shoulder.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

Billy turns to face his boyfriend and just looks his fill for a few moments. Steve gazes back at him with sleepy eyes and messy hair, and even though Billy has seen him like this more times than he can count by now, he feels his heart could burst at the sight. Steve’s skin is a shade tanner than it was two years ago, and some of his features have changed, hardened, minutely. There’s a few new freckles and moles scattered on his skin, and he’s lost some of the teenage softness to his cheeks. But he’s still Steve, and he’s the most beautiful thing Billy has ever seen.

Morning breath be damned, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to Steve’s lips. It lights him up, still.

“I love you,” Steve mumbles against his lips

Billy hums. “Does that mean you’ll make me blueberry pancakes, pretty boy?”

Steve pulls back enough to huff indignantly, though the smile on his face is anything but bothered. “Only if you say it back.”

For a moment, just because he can, Billy pretends to consider the offer while Steve watches him with a small roll of his eyes. “I love you too,” Billy settles with another press of lips. “No bullshit.”

Steve hauls him back in fully then, one leg draping over Billy's, engulfing him and every one of his senses in a kiss. Billy lets himself get carried away in it, pulls Steve impossibly closer.

The pancakes can wait.

  
  


\---

  
  


“Did you seriously buy the bougie organic cat food again?”

Steve grins a little sheepishly from where he’s putting the last of the pancakes on a serving plate to Billy’s left, and just shrugs.

Billy rolls his eyes as he gets the can out of the cabinet. “Your daddy isn’t paying for this shit anymore, Steve. I can’t believe I’m working my ass off just so you can buy five dollar cat food.”

“It’s not like I don’t work,” Steve quips back. “Besides, he likes it.”

Dart meows and weaves his way between Billy’s legs in agreement. Billy huffs.

“I hate your damn cat.”

Steve pecks him on the cheek as he walks past Billy to the kitchen table, pancakes in hand. “No, you don’t.”

Billy just glares at the feline looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

After hearing that Steve had wanted a cat all of his childhood but had never been allowed one because his parents didn’t want pets -- even though they were never fucking home -- he couldn’t just  _ not  _ get Steve a cat. Dart had been a birthday gift for Steve’s twentieth, and Billy, being generally more of a dog person, hates to admit that he actually likes the cat, just a bit. Even though it’s expensive and annoying and breaks something at least once a month.

He leans down to fill the bowl and gives Dart a pat on his dark gray fur as he begins to eat.

Coffees in hand, he joins Steve at their kitchen table a moment later. 

“Thanks for cooking, babe.” 

Steve hums. “I think I actually managed to keep them all whole this time.”

“Wow,” Billy grins, helping himself to the one at the top of the pile. “What an achievement.”

As he’s putting syrup on his plate, careful to not let it prematurely touch the pancake because pancakes are to be  _ dipped _ \-- thank you very much --, he registers Steve pour something into his coffee. 

“Hey!”, he exclaims, immediately unable to repress a laugh when he sees it was whiskey. “What’s this?”

“Irish Coffee,” Steve responds with an all-too casual tone.

“I know  _ that _ ,” he says with a playful roll of his eyes, “but why?”

“It’s your twenty-first, B,” Steve grins. He lifts his own mug, a chunky Star Wars themed one, which contains what Billy assumes is also spiked coffee. “Here’s to no longer having to ask Dave to buy us booze.”

Billy shakes his head with a grin. “You do know we’re meeting my mom in, like, three hours, right?”

“Shut up and do the fucking toast.”

Billy huffs, but compiles. “To my idiot boyfriend trying to get me tipsy at 9.43am.”

Steve laughs.

They toast, sip, and both pull faces at the taste of the mixture. Steve remembers then that Irish coffee is usually served with sugar and whipped cream, and gets up to retrieve both. Billy watches his boyfriend shuffle through the cabinets with a burning in his throat and a grin on his face. 

Their kitchen is small, and Steve nearly trips over Dart and has to duck a bit to avoid the hanging plant next to the fridge, but the ease with which he moves through the room just reminds Billy that this is home. Their home.

They had moved in shortly before Steve’s birthday last September, having finally found an affordable place between SFS and Stanford. Part of Billy had been scared that living together would just result in agitation and annoyance and fighting, but apart from usual squabbles about expensive groceries and leaving toothpaste in the sink, Billy feels more at ease in their relationship than ever.

For a while after they got together, especially in the few months leading up to their move to California, he kept waiting for a shoe to drop. He was waiting for Steve to back out of a Them, to decide Billy isn't worth it, for Steve to tell him they're better off friends. 

Or maybe he was just waiting for a sign that they're not really compatible, not right for each other -- some small glitch that just said  _ there it is, that's what makes him wrong for me _ . It kept not happening, and Billy started to let himself believe there might not be a shoe to drop. There hasn’t been one now, two years in.

Sure, they’ve had fights, some more dramatic than others. Billy will lash out and Steve will throw fits and they’ll both say hurtful things and need a few hours to cool off. But never, in any of those times, did any anger or pride outweigh Billy’s love for Steve. Never once has he regretted taking that leap of faith to  _ Wham! _ that night of his nineteenth birthday. 

Steve rejoins him at the table and sweetens their coffees to where they actually taste pretty good. Billy hopes the whiskey isn’t too strong for the sake of lunch with his mom and Phil and Lucy, but takes a second cup when Steve offers. He figures he only turns twenty-one once.

They idly chat as they eat, talking about nothing in particular. Steve gets syrup on his nose and Dart jumps up onto the table and eats whipped cream off of Billy’s mug, and it’s blissfully uneventful, easy and warm and familiar.

The phone rings just as Billy is soaking up the last of his syrup with a piece of pancake. 

He doesn’t even fully have the receiver up to his ear, when he hears two impossibly loud “Happy Birthday”s ring in his ears.

“Jesus, guys,” he chuckles. “Could you be any more obnoxious?”

“Nope,” Robin responds, popping the ‘p’.

“Actually,” Mel cuts in. “Her? Probably.”

Melanie, Robin’s girlfriend of seven months, has a no-bullshit attitude that Billy appreciates. She’s honest but kind, always has a joke at hand, and counters Robin’s sarcasm with just the right amount of bite. Judging by the handful of times Billy has met her, he thinks she’s just what Robin needs.

Billy laughs and voices his agreement. Steve, having heard who’s on the phone, gets up and joins Billy at the receiver, half shouting a greeting in its direction.

“Hey, Steve!” and “Hey, dingus!” ring out simultaneously. 

“How are you guys?”, Billy asks good-naturedly.

“Unchanged,” Robin answers. “I have a few papers kicking my ass and I’m still looking for a new place since the landlord found out Mel is my girlfriend, but otherwise we’re good. Cruising.”

Billy hums sympathetically. He and Steve hadn’t had  _ too _ hard a time being in San Francisco, but two of their options had fallen through for ‘undisclosed reasons’.

“Actually,” Mel adds, “I’m trying to get her to just move in with me but she’s being a bitch about my apartment.”

Robin scoffs, a little farther away from the receiver than she had been. “That’s ‘cause your apartment can barely house one person, let alone two. Not to mention your airhead party neighbors.”

Mel begins to argue back, but cuts herself off. 

“ _ Anyway, _ we didn’t call you to let you listen to us argue, I swear. How are you doing? Have a good birthday so far?”

Billy can’t help but grin a little devilishly, and barely sees Steve give him a warning stare before he answers. “Oh, I had a  _ very _ good morning.”

Steve slaps him on the shoulder and Billy sticks his tongue out at him. The girls on the other end of the line groan.

“Steve made me pancakes and tried to get me drunk before ten am, so,” Billy says, feigning that his last comment had been innocent.

“Did he succeed?”, Robin asks.

Billy is about to negate this, but Steve beats him to it. “Not yet. It’s a work in progress.”

“Hell yeah.”

“ _ Actually _ ,” Billy says pointedly, “we’re having lunch with my mom soon, so that should probably wait until after.”

“Or…” Mel drags the word out. “You could get drunk  _ with _ your mom.”

Robin laughs. “Oh my god. I would love to see drunk Donna.”

“Tipsy Donna makes really bad puns,” Steve says, and the girls erupt into laughter. 

Billy shakes his head at the lot of them. “I really don’t think we need to talk about my mom at various levels of inebriation.”

“You don’t?” Steve looks over at Billy with a glint in his eye, and Billy can’t decide if he wants to punch or kiss him. He settles for swatting him on the arm.

“Can we come visit you guys Memorial Weekend?”, Robin changes the subject. “I miss the aggressive seagulls.”

“And also she misses you,” Mel cuts in. Her following exclamation suggests that Robin swatted her.

Billy laughs. “You’re welcome to come. I’m sure the seagulls miss tormenting you.”

“As do we,” Steve adds.

  
  


\--- 

  
  


Billy’s birthday lunch is at the usual place, the Red Whale Diner just a few blocks from their apartment. Billy had almost forgotten the restaurant and how much he used to love going there as a kid when his mother reintroduced it to him his first week in San Francisco. The burgers there are to die for, almost as good as the BLTs, so Billy and Steve almost always meet Donna here. Often together with Phil and Lucy.

They’re running a little late, as per usual because Steve’s time management skills are abysmal, and find their usual booth already occupied when they arrive. The Richardson family rises to greet them, all with a hug and a warm ‘Happy Birthday’. 

They take their seats in their usual window booth, across from the family. Steve lets Billy sit at the window. 

“How was your day so far, honey?” Donna asks as they get settled. Her hair shines golden in the sunlight of the booth.

“Good,” he replies simply. “Steve didn’t burn the pancakes, so.”

Steve elbows him, but he’s smiling.

“Well then it must be a special occasion,” Lucy smirks, and then laughs at Steve’s scandalized expression.

Billy, grinning, fist bumps her across the table.

The waitress, a young woman with short dark hair named Pamela takes their orders. She knows most of them already, as their regular server, but it’s never clear what flavor milkshake Lucy is going to want and if Phil will want a sandwich or burger, so she goes through them patiently. 

When she walks ways with a full penpad, Billy remembers yesterday’s swim meet. “Hey, Lucy, how was the swim thing?”

She grins. “Good. I got second.”

Steve whoops so loudly that the patrons two tables over glare at them, but none of them care. Not today.

Because two years ago today, everything fell into place for the lot of them.

Not everything, of course, there was still so much to figure out and work on, but they conclusively fell together. Steve and Billy. Billy and Donna. 

It’s incredible to Billy, really. He’s built a life with a boyfriend he loves and he’s studying his dream major at his dream school. He has a mother that loves him and takes him out on his birthdays. Sometimes, Billy still can’t believe that this life is his. Most of the time, he’s just enjoying the hell out of living it.

Pamela brings them their coffees and milkshakes, topped with two cherries for Steve as per usual, because the brunet is so adamant about the fruit-to-drink ratio. Billy teases him about it, but maybe he’s taken up the habit himself.

Lucy asks about Dart, and Steve is immediately running his mouth about how cute and loving she’s been lately -- which is a stretch, but Billy says nothing. He’s busy admiring Lucy’s bright and excited eyes and the enthusiastic gesticulation of Steve’s pretty hands.

Donna notices him staring and gives him a teasing look. He glares at her half-heartedly. 

“I wanna come over again sometime soon,” Lucy announces. “I need to hang out with Dart.”

“Anytime,” Steve smiles.

Lucy’s been asking for a cat herself, and refuses to accept Phil’s allergy as an excuse. Donna says that Billy was the same as a child, always begging for a dog despite the fact that their rental contract didn’t even allow for one. Six year old him didn’t get it.

But the apartment they rent now doesn’t technically allow pets either, and Billy managed to convince the landlord anyway -- if there were barely buttoned shirts and bedroom eyes involved, that’s his business alone. He was doing it to make Steve happy.

Which is a step or three up from doing it to distract himself from Steve.

Their meals arrive then, warm and steaming and smelling absolutely delicious. Billy’s bacon burger and curly fries are just how he likes them, ketchup in an extra container. 

They talk as they eat, about nothing in particular.

Donna’s coworker Linda is being a nightmare and Lucy has a new friend at school. Steve and Billy share stories about their classes and professors, those they like and those they don’t. Professor Warner is a being a homophobic piece of shit about the clearly homoerotic subtext in Shakespeare and Billy goes off on a ten minute rant.

He doesn't notice the glares he gets from the elderly couple sitting at the booth behind him. 

But when Steve leans over and tells Billy that it doesn’t really matter, that he’s being a drama queen in a fond voice, and presses a short kiss to his cheek, Billy hears an audibly angry huff from behind him.

He grits his teeth, taking a deep breath. Because it doesn't matter. He can just ignore it and eat his damn fries.

“Can I help you?”

Clearly, Lucy has other ideas. She’s fourteen and short and has big kind eyes and delicate blonde waves, but her glare is intimidating as hell. 

“I’m sorry?” The old woman looks genuinely scandalized.

“Yeah, you should be.”

“Lucy,” Phil warns. He lays a hand on her arm, but she ignores him.

“You, young lady,” the old man starts, “need to learn a thing or two about being respectful.”

Lucy’s glare hardens. “You first.”

Phil’s hand tightens on her arm, but he says nothing. Steve purses his lips. Donna looks to be suppressing a smile. Billy can’t help but grin.

He gives her another fistbump over the table.

He hears a scoff behind him, and then the sound of bags being collected and the booth being abandoned.

“Jesus,” Donna breathes.

They all sit in silence for a long moment. It’s far from the first time they’ve been in a situation like this, but it’s never not uncomfortable. San Francisco is far better than Hawkins, but they never won’t get looks.

In an effort to distract from the tension, Steve raises his milkshake. 

“To Billy,” he announces.

Billy huffs out a laugh, and copies his motion. “To Lucy being a badass.”

Donna grins as she raises her half full cup of coffee. “To both.”

Five drinks clink, glass and porcelain and plastic. 

It sounds like shit.

Billy doesn't mind.

  
  


\---

  
  


When they get home at five, it’s to a whiny cat and an uncommonly large stack of mail.

There’s the usual amount of ads, and their electricity bill, but there’s also letters and postcards. Four from Hawkins, one from New York.

Steve feeds Dart and comes back from the kitchen with a bottle of cheap champagne and two plastic flutes. They’re nothing if not fancy. 

They both settle down on the sofa, Billy leaning on Steve’s chest, and toast to two years of kissing. Dart nearly knocks over the bottle champagne, but Billy catches it just in time. Steve drops a grateful kiss to his head.

They go through the cards and letters together.

The postcard is signed by Mike, Lucas, Dustin, and Will, though it’s clear that Dustin did most of the writing. It’s short and all over the place, and Billy can’t wait to put it up on the fridge. (Despite the three whole sentences about RoboCop.)

The letter from Max is the usual amount of affection veiled under snark and insults. She calls him lame for not visiting enough and writes that California sucks (even though he knows she misses it too), and tells him about how much better life at home is now that Neil is out of the picture. Susan even went on a date last week, as of when Max wrote the letter. 

Nancy writes to them about her classes and the article of hers that’s going to get published. She and Jonathan seem to be doing well in New York, even though they complain a lot about the expensive rent. It took the lot of them a while to warm back up to each other, after Nancy’s offensive outburst, but she’s sincerely apologized, and time heals. There’s a tentative air around it all, but they’re friends. Billy reckons that after all the Hawkins shit, they’re connected forever.

There’s a sweet letter from Joyce, which is forty percent about how much she loves and misses them, forty percent questions and speculations about their life in California, and only twenty percent about her own life in Hawkins. As per usual.

The last letter is in a pink envelope.

_ BILLY! _

_ Happy birthday! We’re sorry that we can’t celebrate with you today, but hope this letter reaches you in time. Hopper says that it should, but I don’t trust the mail. California seems so far away, and how would the mailman know how to find you?  _

_ Anyway, I miss you. Hopper says he doesn't, but I know he does. We hope you can come visit soon, and if not, I’m still trying to convince him to let the Party come visit you and Steve this summer. Fingers crossed. _

_ I hope you have a wonderful birthday, full of blueberry pancakes and laughter and kisses from Steve. Give Dart hugs from me. Write back soon! _

_ Love, Jane <3 _

_ Hey kid, _

_ Happy Birthday from me, too. I trust you’re well taken care of with Harrington and your mom, but we are thinking of you. Hopefully you guys can make it back in July, cause there’s an invitation in the envelope. Donna, Phil, and Lucy are getting one too, of course. Thanks for the pep talk on the phone, Steve. _

_ \- Hop _

Steve is already grinning when he makes a grab for the envelope, but it widens when he pulls out the remaining slip of paper.

Hopper and Joyce are getting married on July 16th.

Billy turns to Steve with an incredulous smile, and laughs when Steve lets out an honest-to-god squeal.

Holy shit, Billy is so in love.

Steve makes a move to get up from the couch, but Billy stops him.

“Nuh-uh, pretty boy. You can RSVP later.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, but before he can even open his mouth and make a snarky comment, Billy is kissing him.

Steve doesn’t complain, not when Billy nearly spills the champagne climbing onto his lap, or takes the letter from Steve’s hand and tosses it in the general direction of the coffee table. He just smiles into the kiss.

The envelope does, miraculously, land on the table with all the other letters. It lands right next to Donna’s, the letter given to Billy in the diner, a mirror of all the letters of birthdays past, those he received in a red box when he turned nineteen.

The messy paper-strewn coffee table, the one Steve’s stupid cat named after a  _ demogorgon _ just jumped on, is proof of Billy’s family. It’s far from conventional, it’s a patchwork of sisters and brothers and mothers and fathers, but it’s  _ Billy’s _ . It’s a giant group of people who love him.

Steve laughs as Billy’s hair gets in his mouth, and pulls back to brush it out of Billy’s face.

And Billy’s heart is warm and full and happy.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this did a good job of wrapping it all up nicely! i'd love to know what you think.
> 
> ALSO, i'll be adding this in the birthday chapter, but my talented brilliant incredible showstopping best friend [red](https://hi-im-red.tumblr.com/) made this beautiful rendition of will's art for billy, so have it.  
> 
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://its-tortle.tumblr.com/) if you want! it's mostly a stucky blog at this point but i am still so happy to chat about harringrove if you stop by.

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to leave comments or kudos! :)
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](https://its-tortle.tumblr.com) if you are so inclined


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